It's Been a Long, Long Time
by Mooka333
Summary: "Was that your first kiss since 1945?" She asked him with a little smile. He shook his head, jaw tightening, and answered, "No, that was not my first kiss since 1945." Interesting, Nat thought to herself, if that wasn't, then what was? Clearly, he didn't want to talk about it, that was pretty obvious. Her curiosity was piqued.
1. Chapter 1

***** Quick Author's Note: This takes place after CATFA and Avengers, but before CATWS. Obviously slightly AU, although we know next to nothing about Steve Roger's life in between the Avengers and TWS. Not in the same "universe" as my other Bucky/OC fic either!**

 **In CATWS, Steve's asked a question about first kisses and this story is my answer to that question.**

 **Think it's pretty obvious that beyond my OC not a damn thing in the Marvel Universe is mine! Read, Review, and Enjoy folks! *****

Things would never be the same again, of that she was certain. Hannah looked down at her smashed phone, the screen crackled into a thousand tiny pieces, the body of the device squashed flat, and felt her heart give a little twist. _I never backed up to my damn cloud,_ she thought sadly, thinking of all the pictures, memos, and videos trapped on the ruined thing. It had happened so quickly; she was walking to work, just like she had every day this week, and had stopped to cross the street, just one of the horde of people on their way to work. Some clumsy oaf had rudely shoved her from behind, and the phone she held in her hand had launched out into thin air.

Hannah had let out a breathy little shriek and moved to step out into the street after the phone, recklessly, by instinct. That was when the motorcycle had rolled up to the stop line of the street she was waiting to cross, crushing her precious little phone. She had stopped her forward motion just in time to avoid adding her foot to the mess under the motorcycle's front tire.

"No!" She had screamed, reaching a hand out uselessly towards the little wreck. People around her had begun to mumble as if she were crazy, and Hannah glanced up quickly to the driver of the bike, unable to see his face beneath the visor of his helmet.

"You idiot!" She yelled at him, before stepping into the street and waving her hand at the rider, "Back it up! Back it up! You're killing it!" The motorcycle lunged backwards quickly, about a foot, and Hannah dropped to her knees in front of her phone, heedless of the street-dirt she was surely getting on her pants. Cradling her nearly-new phone in her hands Hannah frowned, disappointment and ridiculous sadness spreading across her face.

She climbed to her feet when she heard a voice behind her say, "I am _so_ sorry." Hannah turned to face the voice and saw the driver of the bike standing next to his two-wheeled, phone-crushing beast, helmet still on his head. She knew it was irrational, but she was furious at the guy, imagining a mocking smirk on his face beneath the helmet.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" She snapped, moving past him and back up onto the sidewalk. She moved towards a newspaper box and swung her large purse up onto the top of it. Placing the phone next to her purse, she rummaged around inside until she found the plastic baggie her lunch-sandwich was sitting in.

"I honestly didn't see it, I'm sorry miss," the rider said again, coming towards her. Hannah pulled the sandwich out of its baggie, tossing it out onto the ground, and dumped the baggie upside down, shaking it to get the crumbs out. She ignored the man as she carefully slid the phone into the baggie, sealing it with great care. Easing the phone-bag into a small inner pocket of her purse, Hannah let out a sad breath.

When she finally looked up at the man, she noticed he'd taken off the helmet, and she absorbed the fact that he was gorgeous, absent-mindedly. He had a slightly hang-dog expression on his face and she felt immediately bad for over-reacting. "It's just a phone," she replied lamely, wincing slightly at the memory of the destruction of the possession she used most.

He nodded a little and looked away and she decided it was time to leave and get to work before she was fired, on top of being phone-less. "Yeah, well, bye," Hannah blurted quickly, swinging her bag over her shoulder and turning on her heel to stride away. She stepped out into the street, the memory of her behavior over the past few minutes making her cringe. _I must be coming down with something,_ she thought wildly, _god I'm such an idiot! Why did I have to act like such a spaz?_

A strong hand gripped her upper arm and yanked her back to the sidewalk harshly. Hannah squawked loudly and stumbled backwards, narrowly avoiding being struck by a car as it sped through the intersection. She realized belatedly that in her haste to escape her dumbass behavior, she'd stormed out into traffic. "Are you alright?" The motorcycle rider asked her urgently, shaking her arm a little.

Hannah turned wide eyes up to him and nodded, nearly panting from the close call. "This isn't your morning," he commented, releasing her arm when she glanced down at where his hand still gripped her. Hannah took a deep breath and shook her head, taking a step back. "Jesus," she muttered, not able to say much else. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if he might admonish her language and Hannah closed her eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, and I'm sorry you had stop me from becoming a smear on that guy's windshield," she told him, her voice hurried and embarrassed, "I swear I'm not normally so stupid." He smiled at that and shrugged a little. "We all have off days," he told her, his smile growing. Hannah managed a small, slightly crazed smile in return. She glanced down at her watch and flinched.

"Oh _shit_!" She cursed loudly, making the man jump, "I'm _so_ freaking late! I really have to go now! Thanks for, well you know, me, car, smush." She gestured a little wildly with one hand and turned to head back to the crosswalk, determined to cross it successfully this time.

"Hey, this might be a little strange, but do you want a ride to work?" He asked from behind her. Hannah reached out towards the crosswalk button and pressed it rapidly, shaking her head before turning back to him. "Um, no," she replied, trying to sound polite, but wondering what the hell was wrong with him that he'd think such an offer was even remotely ok to make to a strange woman.

"I'm not a bad guy," he told her quickly, his cheeks flushing the slightest bit, "You just seem to be having a hard morning." Hannah smiled awkwardly at him as her hand kept pressing the crosswalk signal, internally begging it to change for her. "The worst," she agreed, "Look I'm sorry, you may mean well, but I'm going to pass." He pressed his lips together and nodded at her a little sheepishly.

"Of course, of course," he told her, "Have a good day at work….?" He raised an eyebrow at her and she shot him a puzzled look. "What?" She asked, the expectant look on his face confusing her. "Oh, uh what's your name?" He asked her, the sheepish expression growing even deeper. Hannah blinked at him and shook her head.

"You have boundary issues," she told him in response, her tone slightly teasing. He smiled at her then, a winning smile; it went well with his all-American good looks. "Sorry, again, it just seemed like introductions were in order," he said pleasantly. Hannah heard the beeping of the crosswalk signal then and nearly sagged in relief at the opportunity to escape this whole strange, ridiculous, awkward encounter.

"I have to go!" She chirped brightly, turning away and scurrying across the street. "My name's Steve!" He called after her, "Steve Rogers! Have a nice day!" Hannah reached the other side of the street, waving a hand back at him in farewell, without looking back. She was just walking in the front door of her office building, ten minutes later, when his name well and truly hit her. She paused stock-still in the revolving entrance doors, causing the person behind her to slam into the glass and push the door roughly into her backside.

"Move it, lady!" The angered man snapped, and Hannah bumbled quickly through the doors, racing for the ladies washroom on the main floor before she fell to pieces. _Pretty much the one man in the universe you could trust to drive you to work, unmolested, and you brushed him off,_ she chastised herself. She reached the sink and leaned both hands on the counter, looking up at the mirror and laughing a little hysterically for a moment.

"Captain-fucking-America," she muttered, glaring at herself, "You gigantic idiot."

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Her day passed mostly in the normal way it had this whole week. She was a new transplant to DC, having lived in Seattle her entire life up until this point. She'd worked as a payroll admin for a major clothing retailer in Washington State, before she was put up for a fairly major promotion. When it was explained to her that she'd have to move to literally the other side of the country, part of a start-up group in a new satellite office on the East Coast, Hannah had jumped in feet-first. She'd been coming off a nasty break-up, the death of her beloved dog, and a flood in the little basement apartment she called home; her life was turning into a sad country-music song and it was time for major change.

Her apartment in DC was in an actual apartment building, a nice one too, rather than a basement suite, and with her pay raise, she was able to maintain the price pretty well, despite what she felt was price-gouging rent. It helped that she had no social life, no car, and went to and from work each day without much detour, and therefore no unnecessary expenditures. _That will change,_ she'd soothed herself again and again over the past week since she'd arrived in DC, _and eventually you'll make friends with real live people and have a life again. Maybe date someone other than Netflix._

On her trek home from work, Hannah paused a little longer than normal at the crosswalk of destiny, as she was now calling it, and looked down at the ground where her phone had met its untimely end. There were still a couple tiny shards of screen shining up at her, and a chunk of pink case, too. Hannah sighed and looked around, knowing she was unlikely to see Steve Rogers ( _Captain America, you were a dick to Captain America)_ ever again.

She stopped at the tiny grocer's on the corner across the street from her apartment building and picked up some dinner, a couple staple foods, and a case of beer, smiling wanly at the cashier as she paid. Her feet were sore, her day had been long, and she couldn't stop wincing at the memory of what a dink she'd been in the morning. She was loathing the idea of buying a new phone, of trying to get all the stuff from her old phone onto the new one, and she was embarrassed for acting like such a rampaging idiot. _And now you're going to have to find a mall_ _for a new phone, good luck with that task, genius._

Taking special care crossing the street to her building, Hannah unlocked the front door and made her way into the lobby, making a beeline for the mailboxes. After placing her grocery bags onto the ground, she proceeded to jam the small mail key into her mailbox and did a little fist-pump to see actual mail sitting in there. "Yes!" She crowed, pawing through what was likely a stack of bills. She wasn't pleased to pay them, but was delighted that her change-of-address seemed to have worked. A week without mail had made her feel fully disconnected, as if she didn't even exist in this new city. Hannah bent to pick up her bags and heard the lobby door open behind her.

She turned with a civil smile pasted onto her face, prepared to greet another new neighbor, and felt her jaw drop open in shock when she saw who it was. "Hi!" Steve Rogers said, sounding genuinely pleased to see her. Hannah opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say.

"Did you _follow_ me?!" She cried, deciding to go with suspicion and indignation. His eyes bugged open and he shook his head, turning to watch as she eased herself towards the stairwell.

"No!" He nearly yelled, looking aghast at the insinuation that he had stalked her all day and had now cornered her on purpose, "I live here! This is my building!"

Hannah blinked and realized distantly that she was crushing her handful of mail in her hand. She didn't know if she should believe him. On one hand he was Captain America and he was unlikely to be out to hurt her. _On the other hand you actually don't know him at all, and being Captain America would be like the best cover ever for a serial killer._ He seemed to be following her thinking by her mildly horrified facial expression alone. She took a big step back when he reached into his jacket pocket suddenly.

"Look!" He said triumphantly, pulling out a key ring and jingling his keys at her. Hannah couldn't help the shocked laugh she let out suddenly. "Well, keys, wow," she said flatly, "Now I know you're not a weirdo, you've got _keys._ " He rolled his eyes and strode towards the mailboxes, singling out a smaller key and jamming it into a mailbox. Even from where she stood, she could see the little nameplate that said " _Rogers, S_."

Hannah sagged a little, relief again coursing through her veins. _How the hell did I not see that earlier?_

"See? Mail – my mail," he explained carefully, gesturing towards her with his handful of envelopes. Hannah nodded, conceding that there was no way he would have such an elaborate plot such as this planned just for her. "I'm sorry," she said weakly, looking away. He chuckled and joined her on the stairs as she began to go up them.

"I don't blame you, a, uh, co-worker of mine explained to me that women tend to be a little more cautious these days than I might remember," he explained to her. Hannah glanced over at him and smiled. "I guess so," she answered, not sure what you were supposed to say in awkward stair-climbing conversation with an almost 100 year old super hero.

"You know about me, right? I got an earful from my, uh, co-workers, for yelling my name across a busy street today, apparently that's not safe either," Steve shook his head as if the new safety rules of this day and age were massively inconvenient. Hannah nodded and mumbled something that may have sounded sort of like "Oh yeah, sure I know." She let out an audible sigh when they reached her floor, the third. "This is me," she said quickly, stepping away from him and moving quickly towards her door.

"Have a good night…?" He called out after her and she smiled a little at the way his voice trailed off again, before turning around. "Hannah," she replied, "Hannah Baker." Steve grinned at her and she felt her heart stutter a little bit at the charming expanse of white teeth. "Nice to meet you, Hannah," he told her. She smiled crookedly in response and waved quickly.

"You too," she answered. Hannah turned away and headed to her door, unlocking it quickly. "I live right above you," he called to her, just as she stepped across the threshold, "If you ever need anything." Hannah looked over her shoulder to offer him another unsteady smile, but was only greeted by an empty hall and the sound of his feet tromping up the stairs to the next floor. She closed her apartment door then and locked the deadbolt, the chain and the floor-stop, before leaning against the door for a moment to gather her thoughts.

She laughed a little shrilly, and then kicked off her shoes, listening as they bounced off the wall and thudded down the front hallway. Hannah laughed again as she put away her meager groceries and stuffed the beer into the fridge, all except one, which she put in the freezer. As she went through the motions of taking a shower, changing into sweatpants and a t-shirt, sliding on some slippers, heating up her dinner, and retrieving the now-icy cool beer from the freezer, she laughed on and off at the absurdity of the day.

From her shocked and over-dramatic reaction to having her phone run-over, to realizing just who Steve Rogers was, and then discovering that he lived _directly above her_ , Hannah knew this was hands-down the weirdest day she'd ever had.


	2. Chapter 2

***** Read & Review Folks! And above all, enjoy! *****

The next day was a Saturday, and Hannah could feel nothing but grateful for this as she rolled over on her mattress to face the big window in her apartment. The sun was blaring through it, bright and persistent, and she slung an arm over her eyes to block it out. "Curtains today, definitely curtains," she mumbled to herself. Groaning a little to the empty room, she finally sat up and looked across the floor to where her hastily unpacked alarm clock sat on the hardwood. Her phone had always been her alarm clock, and recently, it had been her computer and TV also, since neither of those things had been unpacked yet.

"Aww, 6 am?" She moaned upon seeing the time. 6 am on a Saturday was a time she preferred to think didn't exist, since she so rarely saw it. The sun's brightness had woken her earlier than intended and Hannah drew her knees up to her chest, casually hooking her arms around them, as she surveyed her bedroom. It was like a minefield of boxes. There was her mattress on the floor, a torn open box of bed linens next to it, one of the only boxes she'd opened so far, just because she'd needed to make her bed.

Her suitcase sat flopped open on the other side of the bedroom, a little waterfall of clothes pouring out of it. Her dresser was on its side, still wrapped in padding, plastic, and tape from its cross country move – _just like everything else you own, you lazy bones._ Hannah guiltily glanced over at the little mountain of sheet plastic and wrapping tape sitting in another corner of the room – again, the result of her ripping the mattress open for sleep. Groaning to herself, Hannah climbed to her feet and headed to the bathroom, using the facilities and brushing her teeth sleepily.

Afterwards, she spent a good ten minutes standing at the living room entrance and staring at the insane disarray of the rest of her home. Wrapped furniture and every size and shape of box sat _everywhere_. She had so much to unpack and organize that she considered simply getting everything hauled away to a dump and just trying to live a monk's life with no possessions. _You wouldn't last a day_ , she told herself wryly, before turning her back on the living room in favor of the kitchen.

Hannah smiled in satisfaction when she stepped into the kitchen and snatched up the little can of fancy ground coffee she'd picked up the night before at the grocer's. Her smile wilted slowly when she remembered she had no mugs unpacked. Her arm lowered the can to the counter in defeat when she further realized that she hadn't unpacked the coffee maker yet, and actually had no idea which box it might be in. She angrily shoved the can away when she remembered she hadn't bought cream for coffee yesterday either.

"Aw hell," she mumbled, wiping a hand across her mouth in irritation. Her mind flashed on the image of the little coffee 'station' inside the neighboring grocers, near the baked goods, and she perked up. Hannah trotted back to her bedroom, pleased with herself for remembering the coffee station across the street. She peered out her bedroom window, the only window in her unit that offered a view of the grocer's, and saw the little red 'Open' sign sitting in their window. She spun to her suitcase and pulled out a bra, lifting her shirt to her chin to slide it on under her t-shirt. Boobs contained, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and pulled out a baseball cap to hide her rumpled bangs underneath.

Out in the hall she grabbed her wallet and keys, stuffing them into the roomy pockets of her sweatpants, and slid her un-socked feet into sneakers, before easing out the door and locking it. Outside in the early morning sun, Hannah smiled. There was hardly any noise, most of DC was still snoozing, and here she was grabbing some coffee in sweats, peaceful and alone. It was nice. Her place in Seattle had been in the suburbs, not within walking distance of anything but more houses and a couple dog parks.

 _Besides, Dylan went everywhere with you, as if you might run away,_ she thought to herself, remembering her distrustful, remarkably insecure ex-boyfriend, _not a second alone, even at work._ They worked for the same company, it was how they'd met, and she had thought they were like some kind of romantic love-story having their meet-cute in the office elevator, dancing around each other flirtatiously, finally going on a date, the crazy, messy, exhilarating relationship of becoming a steady couple, sleeping together, living together – basically being, she imagined, the envy of all the other ladies in the office.

Hannah purposely ground her reminiscing to a halt, not wanting Dylan's memory to kill the joy of her peaceful morning. She found the grocer's empty as well, with just the cashier behind the counter. She made a beeline for the coffee, and a few moments later was emerging with a giant Styrofoam cup of hot, fragrant joe. She sniffed deeply and took a loving first sip. If anything could challenge her current love-affair with Netflix, it was definitely coffee. Hannah chuckled to herself, remembering having that same thought the night before with her first ice cold beer. _You're such a hussy,_ she teased herself, laughing a little out loud.

"Something funny?" She heard a familiar voice and looked up to see Steve come jogging towards her. He was wearing some kind of grey, super-fitted athletic shirt and jogging pants that hung at his waist in just the right way… Hannah swallowed her mouthful of coffee and forced her facial features into something a little less creepy than the open mouthed leer she knew was on there right now.

"Um, no, just me and my coffee," she managed to say, turning her mouth up into a smile, "Were you out jogging?" Steve nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the outside of the grocer's building. "Every morning, more of a run really, it's a great way to learn the area since I've only been here a few months," he explained to her. Hannah nodded; it made sense, though there was no way in hell she'd be running around her neighbourhood anytime soon trying to explore. She preferred all her physical exertion to be expended indoors, in an air-conditioned gym, on mindless machines.

"You're new here, too, right?" He asked her. Hannah nodded and waved a hand at their apartment building. "I've only been here since last Sunday morning," she told him, noting that he was holding excellent, confident, and non-weird eye contact with her, with a small smile on his face; all things that said ' _I'm listening to you, I'm paying attention, this is a conversation I am glad to be having'_.

"Are you all settled in? Where did you move from?" He asked both questions in rapid succession and Hannah shifted to put her weight on her other hip, not sure what to answer first. "I moved from Seattle," she replied, deciding that was the easiest thing to answer first, "And no, not settled in – I'm not even unpacked yet. I've been living out of my suitcase!"

Steve smiled at her and nodded at her clothes. "Looks like you're dressed for some dirty work this morning, need a hand with anything?" He wasn't making fun of her as he said it, Hannah knew that, but she could feel her ears burn in embarrassment nonetheless. She was dressed like a slob, she knew that. _Why oh why didn't I at least put on my cute yoga stuff?_ She moaned internally.

She was wearing a pair of Dylan's old sweatpants, her favourite thing to slouch around in, they were as roomy on her as a circus tent, and the bottoms puddled around her feet, the ends of the pants were frayed and ruined from being walked on. Her t-shirt was an old one of her father's, grey, massive, and with a faded logo for a place called the "Pancake Hut" on the front. Even her hat was a million years old, bent and smoothed out inside to perfectly fit her head; she used to play softball in high school, and it was a relic from those days.

 _The best thing to do here is lie, obviously,_ she told herself, her eyes again cutting over Steve's perfectly-cut athletic clothes, spotless and fitted like a dream. Even his hair, though tousled from running, looked perfect. "Oh yeah, all day – I've got tons to unpack, in fact, I should get started!" She told him, smiling massively, hoping he would just nod and smile and let her go now.

Steve smiled and stood up from his wall-lean, stepping over to her and walking beside her as she crossed the street. "I'm going to be around most of the day, I'm between assignments," Steve told her conversationally, "So if you need help moving anything, let me know." Hannah nodded and smiled.

"Thanks, I will," she responded normally, meanwhile she was internally thinking there wasn't a chance in a thousand years she'd be doing anything of the sort. It was becoming abundantly clear to her that she was not fit for association with humans, let alone someone like Steve Rogers. She'd always been a fairly with-it person, organized, controlled, put-together; an over achiever. But ever since her life crumbled to bits in Seattle, she found that she was definitely not that person anymore; she was a new, uncoordinated idiot, with no social filter and so much self-doubt that she was beginning to think she might need therapy.

Hannah took a deep sip of coffee, holding the giant cup to her mouth to hide part of her face, wishing she could put it on the ground and jump inside it, leaving Steve to go upstairs alone. "So, Seattle," Steve said conversationally, as they began to ascend the stairs, "I hear it rains a lot." Hannah swallowed her coffee and shot him a mildly puzzled expression. It was a terrible start at conversation, and when she saw the look on his face, she realized he was also feeling awkward about this stairway conversation.

 _Oh thank god, he's not_ that _perfect,_ she thought as some kind of weird social-relief filled her. Hannah laughed and then laughed harder. "What?" He asked, turning to look at her, as they stood paused on the landing between the second and third floors. Hannah pressed her lips together and tried to keep from laughing harder. In typical, new-Hannah-can't-control-her-mouth fashion she blurted out, "That's the lamest thing! Of _course_ it rains out there!" She laughed harder and Steve looked a little hurt.

Hannah suddenly stopped laughing and reached a hand out to him, placing her palm on his forearm for a moment, before yanking her hand back immediately. "I'm sorry! No, no, I'm not being a jerk!" Hannah explained, as her mind screamed at her " _YOU TOUCHED CAPTAIN AMERICA'S ARM AND IT FELT LIKE THE BEST ARM-ACTION YOU'VE EVER HAD"_.

"I just really don't know what to say to you, to most people, especially in regards to small talk, these days, and it's _so_ nice to not be alone when it comes to that," she hoped she was explaining herself properly, Steve was looking less hurt, and had his head cocked slightly to the side.

She blundered forward, desperate to smooth the way. "I mean, me saying, ' _Hi my name's Hannah and I only left Seattle because my entire life burned down around me, how are you?_ ' isn't the greatest conversation starter, you know?" She smiled at him and then looked down at her coffee cup. She'd done it now, she was so embarrassed with herself she was tempted to cry, or pitch herself backwards down the stairs; anything to escape the position she was in.

"Steve," she said, her voice now lower, more frank, and definitely more weary (and mostly speaking to her coffee cup), "I'm going to walk up the stairs and into my apartment before I embarrass myself any more, you make me very nervous, and I'm having a hard enough time not freaking out about how I have nothing normal in my life anymore… so right now, you're too much."

He didn't respond and she felt like she had sufficiently embarrassed herself around the superhero she was speaking to, so she just began to climb the stairs. At the third floor she heard his footsteps suddenly move quickly up the stairs after her. "Hi," he said from behind her, "My name's Steve and I'm living in the wrong century. Everyone I know and love is dead and I'm all alone except for people I'm only just beginning to trust. How are you?" Hannah turned slowly to look at him, her eyebrows raised high and her face clearly surprised.

"I'm sorry I make you nervous," he told her, his face utterly straight, "You make me nervous, too." She blinked and nodded dumbly. "I'll let you get back to your unpacking," he murmured, turning around and heading for the stairs. Hannah watched him climb them ( _hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go),_ and then went inside her apartment. She sat on the counter in the kitchen to finish her coffee and eat a granola breakfast bar and replay her third bizarre experience with Steve Rogers.

She'd never thought about someone like him being nervous or unhappy or uncertain. He was a bona fide hero, a super hero at that, part of that group, the Avengers. She thought about the Battle of New York, something that had given much of the world many restless nights' sleep. A year ago, she never would have thought that an alien attack could happen, that aliens even existed. She didn't know anything about Captain America, other than what the history books said. The weirdest thing wandering around was Tony Stark, and he was a billionaire, so most people thought the whole Iron Man event was just a weird rich-guy thing, like bad comb-overs and young wives.

But now… Hannah sipped the last of her coffee and slid off the counter. Now, her neighbour was something more than just a regular guy, and he said she made him nervous. She wondered if that was just a time-related thing, like that all people of this time made him nervous. She'd seen pictures of the Black Widow, the curvaceous, ass-kicking redhead in the Avengers, and she thought that was probably a woman more along the lines of who Captain America, super-soldier, should be with.

Hannah herself knew she wasn't ugly, wasn't disfigured or anything, Dylan used to tell her she was adorable and pretty, and she believed him. She also knew she was a dime a dozen, one of an endless army of women in their late twenties; blonde, blue-eyed, in alright shape, orthodontist-straightened teeth, freckles in the sun – normal in that basic kind of way. She certainly wasn't exotic, mysterious, or slinky in an "I could kill you with a smile" kind of way.

She dragged a box into the kitchen, the first one she saw labelled 'Kitchen', and pulled the lid open. It was filled with Tupperware. Hannah began to unpack, choosing a cupboard on a whim for the collection of plastic containers and their lids. _Maybe he likes a normal girl, one who looks like she could be from anywhere_ , she comforted herself, _or maybe he's not thinking romantically, he's practically a god, maybe he just wants a casual acquaintance, and here you are worrying how your naked butt might look next to his in bed._

Normally, at this point, Hannah would have been playing some music from her phone, but the poor little thing was definitely not going to be able to do that for her now. Halfway through her third box, one filled with pots, Hannah remembered her alarm clock, actually a clock-radio that she'd owned since the mid-90's, and ran to her bedroom to retrieve it. Soon she was listening to a local rock station, that seemed to play a pleasing mix of old and new, and time moved along a lot faster as unpacked and sang along lustily.


	3. Chapter 3

It really only took just under an hour of steady, not-unpleasant work, and she had emptied every box for the kitchen, and thirty minutes after that, had her kitchen appliances all plugged in and hooked up. Her coffee maker, microwave, and toaster adorned her counters and she smiled at them like she would old friends. She heaved the now-empty boxes in the general direction of her front-door and decided to unpack her bathroom next, neatly avoiding furniture for now.

By the time she'd taken a break for lunch, her bathroom was unpacked, set-up, and in order. Her linen closet was filled with her bedding and towels, the entryway closet filled with her coats and outerwear, shoe tree assembled within, her shoes ensconced comfortably on it. A sense of pride filled her and she felt quite puffed up with it until she stepped back into the living room and realized it looked like she had done nothing since all the furniture was still around in plastic lumps, surrounded by yet more boxes.

 _Damn and double damn,_ she thought angrily, running both hands roughly over her head and yanking on her ponytail. "Well, I've got to start somewhere, right?" She said aloud to herself, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach as she marched towards her plastic wrapped couch. Hannah began to yank and tear at the wrapping and soon was surrounded by a pile of plastic and cardboard, and her squashy couch was sitting placidly in front of her.

"Oh hello old friend," she said loudly, tossing herself down onto the familiar softness. Her whole body moulded to the cushions and she felt a flush of happiness and weariness mingled together. The couch smelled like Seattle, carrying little whiffs of Dylan's cologne, the air-freshener she'd had in her old living room, even a faint smell that she knew was her old dog's fur-smell. Hannah felt her eyes well up a little. She was glad to be in a new life, with a fresh start, but god it was hard to escape the old one. There was still a lot of confused-feeling comfort to be drawn from the familiarity of her old life.

After shedding a few pity tears, Hannah suddenly popped to her feet and wiped at her face, deciding that she was just going to have to force away her feelings for now. Dragging an armload of couch-wrapping to her front hall, she realized that she was going to have to make a garbage-run, the hall was nearly impassable with all the boxes and wrapping sitting in her way. The thought of breaking down all the boxes and then making what would likely be several trips downstairs to the big dumpster in the underground parking garage, exhausted her immediately.

 _You could always ask Steve for help,_ her traitorous mind offered in a snide way. Resisting the urge to slap her own face, Hannah clenched her jaw and stuck her chin up a little. _I'll do this on my own, I don't need Captain America helping me and making me feel weird._

Her first trip down went well, her second trip as well, but by the third trip she was so tired she took a break in the lobby, leaning against the wall and wondering if someone had turned the temperature inside the building up to match that of the surface of the sun.

"Oh, hi," she heard Steve say, and she actually groaned aloud before she realized how rude that was. "Yes, hi," she replied quickly, pushing away from the wall, and heading for the stairs, giving Steve wide berth. She didn't even look at his face.

"Hannah," he said calmly, "You look exhausted, are you sure I can't help you? I'd be happy to give you a break." Hannah paused at the bottom of the stairs and felt a drop of sweat trickle down her spine inside her shirt. _Oh what the hell, just let him help – there's no way in hell this is going to be anything other than neighborly at best, you look like shit warmed over._

"You know what, Steve? I was going to say no, but yeah, could you? I'd really appreciate it," she told him, looking up into his face, which was breaking into a pleasant smile. "I'll even buy the pizza and beer tonight as payment," she added on the offer, the standard moving-helper's payment, without thinking, and then she felt herself immediately regretting it. _Don't come crying to me when you make an ass out of yourself on account of the extra time with him,_ she snapped at herself. Steve only smiled a little bigger and glanced at this watch.

"I was going to run out for lunch, how about you go take a break – I'll bring you back something?" He offered and Hannah was so tired and sweaty and hungry that she just sighed and nodded, a relieved smile on her face. "You're awesome, that would be great," she replied. He left and she waited until he was out of sight before spinning around and racing up the stairs two at a time. She lunged through her apartment door and ran towards the bathroom, nearly breaking her neck when she tripped over boxes and smashed to the ground. She popped back to her feet though and grabbed two towels.

She'd never showered so quickly in her life. She brushed her teeth for good measure before hurrying into her room and digging out a pair of jeans and a clean tank top. She didn't want to dress up, but felt she had to _not_ look like a homeless person in front of Captain America, at the very least. _It's your patriotic duty or something._ After ripping her hairbrush through her sodden hair, she yanked it back up into a ponytail and made her way out to the living room again, looking around to make sure nothing embarrassing was sitting around. _No, the 'special' stuff is in the bedroom, keep him away from_ that _box._

When Steve knocked on her front door, she was just unwrapping the second chair for her tiny kitchen table set and she hustled to the door, dropping the wrapping on the floor on her way over. She opened the door and was greeted with a tall, blonde Steve bearing a greasy looking bag and a drink tray with two huge, cold soft drinks in it.

"Lunch?" He offered, raising it all a little towards her. She smiled in response and held the door open and then Captain America was in her apartment. _I feel like I should say the Pledge of Allegiance or something, maybe hum a few bars of the old Stars and Stripes?_

Opting against either idea, she led the way into the little dining nook where the two chairs sat next to the well wrapped table they were meant to be paired with and gestured at the arrangement. "I was going to unwrap the table, too," she explained, hurrying over and beginning to pry at the plastic. Steve put everything down on the kitchen counter and came over to her. "Let me," he offered, gently pushing her hands away, "You get plates."

Hannah dished up the food: two burgers and one container of fries and turned back to see Steve balling up the table wrapping. Her table and chairs stood ready for use and she couldn't help but smile. Seeing the pieces of her old life being unwrapped in her new one, made something inside of her deeply pleased and she carried the food over feeling nearly giddy.

"Thanks so much," she told him, putting his plate down at one side of the table. "It's my pleasure," he responded, shooting her a grin, "It's only neighborly, right?" Hannah chuckled and sat down, waiting until Steve joined her before digging in. "Oh my god, this is so good," she mumbled around a mouthful of the best burger she'd ever eaten.

"It's from that place, Burgers Etc., down the block, hands down best burger joint I've ever been too," Steve told her, taking a large bite of his own burger, "And I've got lots of experience with burgers, so I'd know." They ate in relative silence and Hannah began to find that she was less and less nervous around him. She watched him eat surreptitiously and realized that he might be a lot of things, but he was also just a guy, who ate like a normal guy.

"So, what would you like me to help with first?" He inquired, when he'd hoovered down his meal. Hannah was still working on her burger and shrugged. "Maybe we could unwrap the rest of the furniture and you could help me move it?" She began tentatively, not wanting to impose, but beyond pleased at the notion that she wasn't going to have to break her back trying to move the bigger pieces on her own. He nodded and jumped to his feet, urging her to finish her meal. She did, and then cleaned up, listening as her clock radio played some older music she remembered from high school, and behind that, the noise of Steve moving around in the living room.

When she stepped into the living room she stopped in shock. He'd unwrapped everything, and all the wrapping was in a large box that used to contain her TV. Her furniture was arranged in a way she knew she would keep, and he'd even put her TV up onto the entertainment unit, although the cords he'd coiled next to it were not TV cords, but computer cords. _Not as if he's likely to really know that though,_ she thought in mild amusement, really realizing for the first time that the handsome guy carrying her desk like it weighed nothing was actually born almost a hundred years ago. The realization was frankly amazing, and also a little creepy, if she was being honest with herself.

"I thought I'd set it all up a little like my own stuff is," he told her, putting the desk down in the exact corner she'd already determined the desk would live in, "Sorry, is that presumptuous? I can change it." Hannah shook her head immediately. "No! It's great, thank you," she insisted. He smiled again, the sunny expression he had that she was growing used to seeing, and he waved a hand at the box filled with wrapping.

"You get unpacking, I'll get the garbage downstairs," Steve instructed, and Hannah could only nod. The afternoon went by quickly, and despite one embarrassing incident when he was helping reassemble her bed frame, where she knocked over a box and it spilled open, a large amount of underwear and bras pouring out onto the floor, she was growing increasingly more comfortable around him.

It wasn't because he was Captain America, or because he was gorgeous, and it wasn't because she needed a man around or anything. It was because he was pleasant and funny and kind. She needed _kind_ in her life right now. He was offering help and smiles and conversation with no strings attached, and after everything with Dylan, and his emotional-vampire ways, she was soaking up the simple, easy companionship.

By dinnertime, Hannah was ready to call it quits for the day. "Can you order the pizza?" She asked him, when he returned from his last trip down to the dumpster, "I don't know the good places yet." Steve smiled with one side of his mouth. "And you don't have a phone," he added helpfully. Hannah let out a loud, short laugh, and waved her hand in his direction with a flourish.

"Oh ha ha," she said sarcastically, adding in an eye roll for good measure. Steve bumped her shoulder with his own and then turned and headed towards the front door again. "Where are you going?" Hannah called after him. He paused and looked over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn together a little quizzically. "To order pizza?" He responded, a question in his tone.

"Don't you have a cell phone?" She asked. Steve nodded. "I'm not _that_ out of touch," he told her lightly, "It's just upstairs, I have to grab it."

"You know they're portable right? Meant to be carried around on your person?" She shot back, calling after him as he moved through the doorway. He waved a hand at her without turning back. "They're small and annoying! I always forget about it," his voice carried back to her and she had to chuckle. The strangeness of what it must be like to be Steve kept hitting in her waves, over the smallest things. Most pop culture references went right over his head, like quotes from movies and television shows that were ingrained in most people as normal conversational pieces. He had stared at her DVD collection like it was something magical, and even something simple like the multiple earrings in each of her ears had him staring when he first noticed them.

"Didn't those hurt?" He'd finally blurted out. Hannah had placed a hand gently on her ears and then laughed a little, shaking her head slightly. "Not really, it was over so quickly," she'd explained. Steve had quirked up an eyebrow like he didn't believe her.

"But why?" Steve had asked after a moment of silence, "Was the first one done wrong? I see so many people with things like that, and it doesn't make any sense." She could sense that this was something he'd been dying to ask someone for a while and tried not to laugh again, managing to smother the urge with a smile.

"It's a looks thing, I guess," she tried to explain, "Lots of people get them, and when I was younger it was sort of a way to express myself."

"By punching holes in your earlobes over and over again?"

"I pierced my nose too, although I've taken that one out."

"Your nose?!" He seemed horrified, so Hannah had stepped a little closer and pointed at the side of her nose, where the tiniest little scar remained. He leaned down, ridiculously close to her face, making her catch her breath as he examined her nose.

"Was this also to express yourself?" He'd asked skeptically. Hannah had shrugged and taken a step back, his closeness making her feel sweaty and awkward. "Mostly to look cool, I think," she said laughingly, trying to remember the reasons 18 year old Hannah had for getting the piercing, "But now, I just don't love it anymore, so I took it out." Steve had shaken his head and turned back to the box he was unpacking.

"I also pierced my belly button," she mentioned casually, watching him out of the corner of her eye, genuinely interested in seeing his reaction. He turned to her, a completely gobsmacked look on his face.

"No," he said in disbelief. Hannah smiled and laughed at him this time, lifting her shirt up enough to expose her belly button and the small, delicate piercing she still wore there. He stared at the piercing and then turned wide eyes to her. "Was this also to look 'cool'?" He asked, hooking his fingers in the air to place quotation marks around the word.

"Nope," Hannah said, pulling her shirt back down, "This was to impress a guy – a stupid reason, but I think it's cute, so it stays in." Steve chuckled quietly and turned back to his unpacking.

Hannah shook her head, pulling herself from the recent memory of their afternoon, and went to the bathroom, washing her hands and face, and applying some more deodorant. She went into her bedroom and pulled open a drawer on her newly set up dresser and yanked out a t-shirt, changing from the slightly grubby top she'd been wearing all afternoon.

She smoothed the fabric down over the top of her jeans and looked around her transformed room. It was put together now, at least in terms of the big things. She felt a settled sense of rightness seeing her possessions laying around in clusters on the dressers, or in opened boxes, just waiting for her to organize them. Hannah strolled over to her bedroom window and looked outside, the day was still bright and warm, but her curtains kept it muted. She trailed a hand down them and smiled. _No more early mornings,_ she thought in satisfaction.

Hannah decided they needed to at least have entertainment while they ate, and went into the living room, taking the few minutes to hook her TV up to her DVD/Netflix player. The cable box had been waiting in her apartment for her, a perk of renting in this building, and so she hooked that up too and took a couple minutes to sync everything to her universal remote. She was again deeply pleased to have the basics back and couldn't keep the smile off her face as she pushed open her curtains and then opened several windows, creating a cross breeze ( _god I love an end unit)_. She watched her little slice of DC enjoy the summer night below her and jumped about a foot into the air with a shrill cry when Steve suddenly spoke from right behind her. She'd been so wrapped up in watching the street, she hadn't seen or heard him come in. Heart racing, she turned around to see him making an apologetic face.

"I should've knocked," he said immediately. Hannah smiled wanly, and internally assessed that she was likely not having a heart attack, before she gestured at the couch. "It's ok, I wasn't paying attention," she croaked, "Let's sit down?" He nodded and stepped aside in an obvious way, letting her pass him and approach the couch first, before him. She paused before sitting on "her" side of the couch and looked over at him, slightly quizzically. It had been an oddly chivalrous gesture and seemed completely out of place.

"Why did you let me go first?" She blurted out, genuinely curious. Steve blinked at her and then frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "Ladies first?" He replied, "It's your couch, just letting you find your seat first – you do have a favored side, right?" Hannah nodded, appreciating that level of insight from him.

"You're a thinker, Steve," she replied lightheartedly, casting a brief smile his way, again truly happy for the company, "When's the pizza getting here?"


	4. Chapter 4

***** Thank you all so much for the reads, reviews, follows, and favs - I'm really glad you're liking this! It's not going to be a super long story - but its got a few solid chapters left in it - Enjoy! *****

The evening was spent relaxing, and any prior awkwardness was being filtered out of their time together, easily. Hannah was grateful for this, and she suspected Steve was too. They ate the pizza and had enjoyed a couple beers, when Steve informed her he couldn't get drunk anymore. Hannah had simply gaped at him like a goldfish out of water, completely uncertain how to respond to that; that kind of comment from him spoke to a whole long, complicated origin story, and she was afraid to shatter the image of Steve-the-man that she was only just forming.

 _Maybe we can talk about this another day…_ she thought uneasily, slivers of information about exactly who and what Steve was coming back to her, making her grow tense. Steve seemed to sense her growing discomfort and trepidation and slid the conversation away. It wasn't like she held him responsible for being what he was, or was grossed out by it, or thought he was a monster – it was all just too fanciful, too strange, too surreal – she didn't know if she was ready to take that mental leap away from the boring normal world she knew, into the unbelievable world Steve lived in.

They watched the Flintstones. Hannah had dithered endlessly about what to put on for the man who'd missed everything, and she didn't want anything too serious. She remembered her mom telling her once that the Flintstones had actually been considered an "adult" cartoon when it first came out – not in the porno sense, but something like the Simpsons were now. She thought the humor might just appeal to Steve's retro sensibilities.

It turned out she was right. He laughed harder than she thought necessary, but the enjoyment on his face was real. She spent more time watching him than the show, and found it both touching and hilarious that he was genuinely enjoying the rather tame show. As the night progressed and it grew dark outside, Hannah grew steadily more and more tired, but didn't want to call an end to it; she liked having the noise and presence of another person around. She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until Steve was gently shaking her awake.

"Hannah, Hannah," he said softly, his hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to go now." She shook herself awake and launched up to sit bolt upright, making Steve step back before their heads collided. "Oh yes, of course, I fell asleep," she replied stupidly, "I'm sorry, I'm a really bad host." He just smiled at her and stepped away, heading towards the door. She climbed off the couch and looked around and realized he'd cleaned up the beers and plates while she slept.

"Oh, now I'm a _really_ bad host," she said ruefully, following him slowly towards the front door, "Steve you shouldn't have cleaned up!" He stopped at the door and turned to her, a small smile on his face. "Then that would make me a bad guest," he replied easily. Hannah smiled back and they stood awkwardly looking at one another for a moment. Hannah had no idea how to say goodbye. What was appropriate? This wasn't a date… was it? Were they just friends who hung out or was this something else?

She found her body moving before her brain as she stepped towards him and reached up to give him a quick hug. "Thank you so much for everything today," she told him. His arms came up to return the embrace, and she was engulfed in them briefly, before she stepped away. They were now standing much more closely together than before and Hannah leaned towards him, placing a quick but soft kiss to his cheek. His skin smelled like soap and he had the bristles of five o'clock shadow running along his jawline and cheek, which tickled under her lips.

"Thanks again," she told him quietly, taking two steps away from him. He looked like he might be blushing, but she couldn't tell for sure in the dim light of the hallway, however, he certainly looked pleased. He nodded, told her goodnight and stepped out the door.

Hannah was just climbing into bed, about twenty minutes later, when she fully realized she'd kissed Captain America and she was pretty sure he'd liked it. She lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Steve was above her, laying in his own bed, thinking about the little kiss on the cheek as well.

It took her very little time to fall asleep, despite being distracted by her 'bold' move, and she slept hard; a day of moving furniture and unpacking had physically exhausted her. The next day, she didn't see Steve, not even once, and part of her thought that might be ok. She puttered around her apartment, organizing and arranging her newly unpacked things, hanging a few pictures, and then made a trip out to a mall that her computer (once it was set-up), told her was only a bus ride away.

The phone replacement turned out to be nearly painless, and on the way home she stopped at a real grocery store, before lugging all her goods home. That evening was also quiet. She wished she knew Steve's phone number, thinking it might be appropriate to call and thank him again, but she had no intention of going upstairs and disturbing him, if he was even home.

A whole week went by before she saw Steve again. By the next Friday, her apartment was completely in order, and she was fully convinced that she had put way too much thought into her strange and wonderful day with Steve. Hannah had her TV going in the living room and was mixing together a gigantic taco salad in the kitchen, wondering if she should get a cat, when there was a knock on her door. She put the tongs back into the salad bowl, and wandered to the door, images of a stripy orange kitten dancing through her mind. When she looked through the peephole, her imaginary cat was banished almost instantly.

It was Steve, and he was looking well put together and handsome. Hannah glanced down at her PJ pants and t-shirt, lamenting that she had taken her bra off ten second after arriving home from work, and reached for the door, awkwardly crossing her arms over her chest afterwards.

"Hi," he said, a somewhat sheepish look on his face, "How are you? Am I interrupting anything?" Hannah shook her head, and then shrugged. "Hi, no, just making a taco salad, what's up?" Her reply was friendly, she thought, noncommittal, yet pleasant – a balance she was dying to achieve – Steve realizing she was disappointed that he'd disappeared all week was not something she was eager to have happen. She stood in the doorway and raised her eyebrows at him after a couple long seconds went by and he didn't say anything.

"Yeah, so, I'm sorry I never came to chat this week, I was out, on assignment, and I didn't have a way to call you, didn't know if you had your phone, and I didn't know your number if you did have it. Although, I probably could have gotten it, I know people who could… but that's probably not a normal thing to do anyways, if you haven't offered it yet," he was speaking rapidly, and Hannah suddenly understood he was nervous, as he continued, "I know that probably seemed rude – I'm sorry." Hannah cut him off with a smile.

"It's alright," she told him, "Have you eaten? Would you like some salad?" He shook his head immediately and she felt her face fall a little at how quickly he was turning her down. His eyebrows shot up when he saw the way she stepped back slightly, as if to end the encounter and he waved a hand in the air. "No, I mean, I came down here to see if you'd eaten or not, and thought we could go out for dinner? If you hadn't eaten? Have you eaten the salad yet? Are you hungry?" His questions were rapid fire and Hannah blinked at him, her spirits lifting, and a small burble of laughter welled up in her throat and flew out.

"I can put it in the fridge, because, no I haven't eaten yet," she explained, trying to stay calm, even though half her mind was thrilled that he appeared to be asking her out, and the other half was warning her that she had no clean pants to wear. Steve let out a little breath and smiled, gesturing with one hand towards the stairwell. "Great! Shall we?" He invited.

Hannah laughed again. "Steve!" She cried, the laugh trapped in her voice still, "I'm in pajamas, I think I'll need a few moments." He nodded, a sheepish look on his face, and this time, in the brighter light of the apartment's hallway outside her door, she could definitely see the slight blush on his face. She admired the way it ran along the tops of his cheekbones, and only there, before shaking herself out of it.

"I'll need about 30 minutes, is that alright?" She asked him, trying really hard not to fixate on the blush again. Steve nodded again and took a step away, leaning against the wall. "I'll wait here," he told her, and Hannah shook her head. "Steve, no, just come inside and wait on the couch, take a load off," she urged him, turning around and walking back inside her apartment.

"A load of what?" He muttered behind her, as he followed her inside, shutting the door. Hannah went into the kitchen first and began to rapidly put her half-done salad into Tupperware, shoving everything into the fridge. Steve was sitting on the couch, blanking watching the sitcom playing on the screen when she rounded the corner from the kitchen.

"I'm just going to go change," she told him briefly, noting that he looked a lot more uncomfortable on the couch than he had last week. He nodded and Hannah headed down the hall to her bedroom. She may have been out of clean pants, but the night was warm, and she decided that if this was a date, than she would dress like it. She pulled a summer dress ( _the only one that still fits after the 'Netflix' weight you've gained)_ from her newly organized closet and changed into the undergarments that went best with it. It felt light on her skin, and she was pleased that she'd shaved everywhere just that morning.

The dress itself was a fairly modest thing: white background, with a lively splash of flowers in red, purple, and blue, and their accompanying greenery on top of the white. It was sleeveless, the neckline skimming along her collarbones, and it was fitted to the waist where a white belt interrupted the smooth fit, beneath the belt the dress opened up like a stiff flower, giving the skirt a voluminous feel without anything to puff it up. It ended just above the knees.

She left her legs bare, only smearing on a quick layer of lotion. She put on her pair of black heels and yanked the clip out of her hair. Her hair was messy after being so hastily put into a bun earlier, and she left her bedroom, clutch purse in her hand, to try and fix it in the bathroom. A few minutes later, teeth brushed, mascara applied, and rumpled hair mussed into something more stylish and on purpose, Hannah emerged from the bathroom and was hugely gratified when Steve stared at her like she was a vision. His eyes trailed several times from head to toe, and the slightly startled, but appreciative, smile he shot her made her heart flutter a little.

They left her apartment and as soon as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he offered her his arm. She was feeling like a girl on her first date, and she knew that was outrageously stupid, but Steve was also acting like a moony teenager on his first real date, so she felt in good company.

"My work pulled me out of the country this week, it was pretty sudden," he said out of nowhere, after they'd been walking for a few minutes, "I didn't know that was going to happen, I'm sorry to just disappear like that." Hannah shrugged. Steve stopped, and turned to her, his eyebrows drawn down a little concern. "No, really, a, uh, co-worker, explained that you might see that as me brushing you off, that you might even slam your door in my face tonight. So I'm sorry."

Hannah raised an eyebrow at him. "You're co-worker doesn't sound like they expect women to act like much else besides hysterical twits – we hardly know each other Steve, why would I get upset that you had your own life to lead?" She kept her voice steady and calm, and he eventually nodded and smiled back. "I still felt bad, where I come from, it's not very gentlemanly to disappear like that, especially after we had such a great day," he explained. Hannah slid her arm through his and urged him to keep walking. _Where he comes from? Oh... the early part of the last century… good lord._

They chatted about her work, the weather, the decoration in her apartment, until they reached the destination Steve had in mind. It was a little, nondescript, diner and Hannah immediately thought that they were each stupidly overdressed. "I know what it looks like," he said, "But I came here once, on my war bonds tour before I went overseas, and when I found out it was still here, and run by the same family, I thought it might be fun." Hannah smiled at him, and followed him inside, internally her heart fluttering a little uneasily to think that the young, handsome man beside her was talking about a trip he once made here 70 years ago.

The diner had been clearly upgraded to appeal to 50's nostalgia, but Steve assured her it wasn't much changed. The music and the atmosphere, not to mention the way Steve looked, and even her slightly retro dress, put her in a great mood really quickly though, and she began to hum along to some of the music she recognized as _old_ oldies. Steve fed off her good mood and they began to chat more amiably about nonsense little things. Hannah even whipped out her new phone to show him, snapping a couple pictures of him and asking the waitress, who clearly had recognized who Steve was and was star-struck, to take a picture of the two of them sitting at the table.

They ordered burgers and fries, and Hannah grinned at Steve before ordering one chocolate milkshake for them to share. "You don't want your own?" He asked her hesitantly. She smirked playfully. "You missed the 50's, right?" She asked him. He nodded, not getting it. "Then you missed out on the era of sharing a milkshake at a diner with your girl, before going to a sock hop or whatever they called it," she was laughing as she explained, but Steve's eyes widened a little, and he nodded looking away.

Hannah's mood wilted slightly as she began to think that maybe her statement had really hit home – she knew next to nothing about him, beyond the superficial crap in the history books; maybe Steve had a girl in the 40s, one he'd involuntarily left behind. Maybe he really did miss out on the 50s in a big way, and the 60s, and so on.

"Steve, I'm sorry," she blurted out, "I'm an idiot and I speak without thinking. I didn't mean to dredge up anything unpleasant." He looked back at her and smiled ruefully. "Don't worry, it's not your problem, I've had a long time to adjust to this," he tried to soothe.

"Have you though? Hasn't it only been a couple years?" She spoke without thinking again and Steve nodded a little. "A couple years, plus or minus 70-odd more," he muttered. Awkwardness hung over the table then, and blessedly, the food arrived. They began to eat and there was no more conversation at the table for a few long minutes. Hannah was slowly dancing a fry through some ketchup, thinking that dating Steve Rogers came with baggage she wasn't sure she could handle, when Steve slid the milkshake towards her.

She looked up and saw that he'd stuck both straws in. He had a smile on his face and his eyebrows were raised questioningly. "Thought you were going to show me how to share a milkshake," he declared. Hannah felt a smile spread across her face and she nodded, readjusting her position in the booth seat so she could lean towards the drink.

"Just like this," she spoke happily, pleased and relieved that the awkward moment had passed and taken its heaviness with it. She closed her lips around the straw and took a sip, looking up at him from under her eyelashes when she did so. He was watching her avidly and she felt a mild blush heating up her own cheeks. She released the straw.

"Don't leave me hanging here Rogers, get in," she jokingly demanded. He chuckled and took the other straw, taking a tentative sip of his own. She joined him a moment later and she immediately realized this was not a well thought out plan on her part. Their faces were inches apart, their eyes almost forced to look into each other's, as they drank the milkshake.

Hannah was nearly overcome with an urge to shove the milkshake off the table and kiss him, a sudden curious desire to know if the ice creamy treat had made his tongue cold. She sat back quickly then, knowing that it was alright to be attracted to a date, in fact that was generally deemed a good thing – but if she wasn't careful, she might end up breaking her own rule and sleeping with him on a first date. _That would be bad, right?_ She asked herself, smiling awkwardly at him as she patted her mouth with a napkin, _you're already thinking that anything serious might not work out with a guy like this._

Steve got up to pay his bill and she watched his every move, feeling like a perv. _Does it have to work out? Good lord look at that butt…_ Hannah shook her head and made a beeline for the ladies room. She splashed some water on her face and adjusted her hair, telling herself to remain calm and in control. It had been a few months since she'd seen any action, and now, apparently sharing a milkshake with a handsome man was enough to set her off.

After cooling off, she was able to enjoy the slow walk back to their apartment. It was odd to be walked home by a guy, there was again a level of chivalry in the act – Dylan had always met her places when they were first dating. This being escorted business had its perks if you were interested in the other person. Steve had her arm gripped securely in his own and even as they chatted on their walk, she could feel his eyes on her.

Once inside their apartment building, they headed up the stairway and paused on her floor for a moment. "Do you want to come up for a coffee or something?" Steve asked nervously. She turned to him in surprise, his normally demure nature seeming at odds with such a bold request. She realized by the look on his face that he literally meant coffee and she melted a little. "Sure, sounds good," she replied, pleased. Steve led her up the next flight of stairs, opened his front door and then she was in his apartment.

It hit her again, exactly who and what Steve was. There was an odd combination of old and new in this apartment, and the old was authentic, not modern nostalgia-inspired pieces, but pieces that looked like maybe they'd been his since the 40s. She released his arm and walked down his front hallway slowly, her eyes locked on the framed photographs lining the wall.

Her heart was thudding heavily, painfully, as she caught an intimate glimpse into his unique past. There was Steve, always in black and white, surrounded by men she instantly recognized as his Howling Commandos. Steve with a handsome dark haired man. _Bucky Barnes_ , her history teacher's voice helpfully provided in her mind. She moved slowly down the hall. There were pictures of someone she at first thought might be Steve's little brother, until she understood that it _was_ Steve, pre-Captain America.

"My god, it's all true," she murmured, a hand raising up to gently graze against the framed photo. Here was smaller Steve with his parents, again and again with Bucky Barnes throughout a wide array of ages. The last picture was of Captain America-Steve with a dark haired mustachioed man, and a lovely dark-haired woman. "This guy, that's –" she began, and Steve spoke from right behind her, startling her. "That's Howard Stark, Tony Stark's father," he explained in a low voice.

Hannah turned to look at him and saw a strange expression on his face. She moved down the hallway into his living room quickly, deciding they didn't need to dwell in the past right now. The arrangement of furniture was similar to her own, except he had no TV. The furniture was older, darker, heavier, but as Steve flicked some lights on and she sat on the couch, she realized it all very much suited him. He sat on the couch next to her and she saw a sliver of vulnerability still resting heavily on his features.

Introducing her into his home, letting her see the pieces of his past, she knew this was very strange for him, maybe even painful. He turned to her, about to say something, she could tell, but she moved quickly, reaching for his shoulder and pulling him towards herself. In an instant she brought his lips to hers and kissed him. This was no small peck this time. She enjoyed the heat of his lips, and the feel of his hair in her fingers when she slid her hand up the back of his head.

His arms came up around her, hesitantly at first, but soon he had one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other wrapped around her, pressing against her lower back. She could feel the slight scratch of his chin against hers and moved to deepen the kiss, pressing her tongue gently against his lips until they parted.

It felt like hours as they kissed and embraced; Hannah could tell he was definitely enjoying it when he pulled her closer and his hands roamed a little, running down her ribs, and one of them coming to rest on her bare knee. He groaned a little when he felt the smooth expanse of her skin there, and Hannah let her hands do a little a exploring of their own. He was very muscular and she was partly dying to rip his shirt off and behold what lay beneath, but she knew that she would likely be tearing her own dress off afterwards, so she kept it to the heated make-out session stage it was currently in.

When they finally came apart for air, she was in his lap, both of them flushed and nearly panting, hair mussed everywhere. He just stared at her, looking mightily pleased, and like he wanted to dive back in. Hannah was reaching her limit though, and wanting to maintain a little decorum for her on-the-rebound-self. "I should probably go, before… well, I should probably go," she told him breathlessly. Steve nodded and looked away.

They climbed to their feet and she straightened her dress before making her way back down his hallway to the front door. "We never had that coffee," she told him laughingly, turning to face him at the door. He was right behind her, tall and broad-shouldered, and he immediately pressed her up against the door and began to kiss her again, with vigor. Hannah moaned, but enthusiastically joined in. She pressed herself against him and clutched around his neck as they melted together again.

He let out a surprisingly un-Steve like growl of frustration before reaching for her waist and hiking her up, both her legs wrapping around his hips. _I guess this answers the question about whether he really likes me or not,_ she thought in distracted-amusement, giggling a little as one of his hands rested easily against her bottom, the other moving up to her face and hair again. This time when their lips parted, they really were panting, and Hannah could feel one really good reason to stay the night pressing against her, where her legs were rather wantonly wrapped around him.

Using every last shred of self-control, she released him and got her feet back on the ground. Steve seemed to recognize the signal that this was coming to an end and stepped back himself. "I'm going to go now," she whispered. He nodded and smiled at her, making her have to tighten her resolve spastically. She smiled back and he groaned, turning away.

"Yeah, you need to go," he said, rather throatily, "Probably soon." Hannah chuckled lightly and ran a hand down his back lightly, enjoying the shudder that rippled down afterwards. "I'll see you later," she told him, as calmly as she could, "Hopefully not in a week."

She opened the door and stumbled into the hallway then. She headed for the stairwell and made her way down the first couple of stairs. She nearly pitched forward and fell when Steve thundered out of his apartment and joined her on the stairs. He wrapped a hand around her arm to steady her and then offered her his arm, a shaky smile on his face.

"That was rude," he said breathlessly, "I'll walk you to your door." She smirked at him and then laughed, "I'd understand if you needed the distance right now." Steve laughed too and they made the short trip quietly. At her front door, she took his hands in hers, noting how small her own seemed in comparison to his. "I had a lovely night, thank you," she told him sincerely. He smiled brightly and then ran a hand through his hair, making her knees wobble. "I did too," he replied.

He leaned towards her and placed a light, almost chaste, kiss to her lips before pulling back, his eyes involuntarily dropping down to look at her from head to toe again, a gleam growing in his gaze before he shook himself a little. "Good night, Hannah," he told her, rather formally. She smiled at him and went inside quickly. When the door was locked she heard him groan again on the other side of the door and her smile grew to a goofy grin.

Hannah fairly danced her way to bed that night, happy with how the slightly-strange night had ended. _Maybe strange is good, maybe the weird, and the potential for drama is good,_ she told herself as she lay in bed, _Maybe normal is boring, and you've been there and done that._ She fell asleep reliving the kissing and knew that she was unlikely to stop herself from jumping him if such a thing happened again. _At least now you know he wouldn't mind taking the plunge with you._


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Hannah took it easy. It was another bright day outside, and she had very little desire to be out in the sunshine. Her couch beckoned to her the moment she laid eyes upon it, and she brought a small arsenal of comfort with her when she went to enjoy all the piece of furniture had to offer: large mug of coffee, plate of peanut butter toast, phone, book, throw blanket – everything she could want.

With the TV on in the background, Hannah took to her various social networks on her phone, liking and commenting on the varied statuses of her friends back in Seattle. She felt zero inclination to share any of her fledging relationship with any of them, and was secretly gleeful and smug as she perused everyone's normal, boring updates. Afterwards, she got several chapters further into her book, sprinkling crumbs from her toast down onto the page as she munched and read.

There was knocking at her door, and Hannah swiftly put everything down on the coffee table, climbing to her feet and brushing the toast remnants from her t-shirt. It had to be Steve, no one else really knew her. Sure enough, the peep hole revealed Steve standing on the other side, dressed casually. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, looking down at her sloppy PJs. _I really need to buy nicer clothes to wear at home,_ she thought ruefully, before pulling the door open and trying to hide her body behind it.

"Hi," he greeted her, his voice deep and pleasant. Hannah smiled brightly in response. "Do you have any plans for the day?" He asked her, and she shook her head. "Not really, just sort of relaxing, why? What's up?" She responded casually – she wanted to sound free, but not like she _needed_ to hang out with him. Steve nodded along at her words and gestured behind himself towards the stairs.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in some sight-seeing? I know you're still new around here, and thought you might like the guided tour," he explained. She wanted to screech "YES", but instead managed a rather calm smile and a nod. "That would be great – can you give me a little bit to get ready?" She responded. When he nodded, she waved a hand back into her apartment.

"Do you want to wait inside?" Her offer came out a little huskier than she'd intended, her throat feeling thick suddenly. He nodded and followed her in. They paused awkwardly in the hallway, and she realized he was as uncertain as she was about what their status was, and what that veiled status called for upon a morning greeting such as this.

They both moved towards each other at the same time, and she placed a little kiss on his mouth. Her arms went up to embrace him quickly, a small hug, and his did the same. However, as soon as their bodies met, it was like someone had shot off a racing pistol. Suddenly they were both entwined about each other, mouths eager, and hands everywhere. She realized that the night apart had done little to cool them down and was very aware that beneath her giant sloppy t-shirt, she was braless.

Steve's hands were also discovering just how short her sleep shorts were, and she moaned against his mouth when one of his fingers slipped beneath the bottom hem of the shorts and stroked her upper thigh. She felt like she was done fighting this, and decided that she was tired of trying to maintain decorum. _Besides, this isn't your first date anymore, it's a completely different day._ Hannah pulled away from him and he took a deep breath, his eyes hooded as he looked down at her.

"Do you want to come to my bedroom?" She asked him softly, picking up his hand and pulling him in the direction of her room. He nodded dumbly and followed her. In her room, she realized that there was no helpful darkness or shadows to make her feel more comfortable, the sunlight through the curtains, though not as bright as outdoors, was not dim enough to hide any insecurities she felt about herself.

To gain some time to build up some nerve, Hannah pulled at the bottom of his shirt and then he moved to allow it to go up and over his head. "Holy shit," she whispered, when she saw everything the shirt had covered. Swallowing hard, she reached immediately for his belt buckle, wanting to see more, but his hands stopped her. She looked up to his face, quizzically, and his hands wrapped around the bottom of her own shirt. His eyes were asking for permission, and she nodded, helping the shirt off.

Steve looked decidedly less clean-cut and American-pie when he let his eyes rove over her. She was nude to the waist and felt strangely shy, although this was far from her first rodeo. She touched his chest tentatively, letting her fingers splay across the muscles, her fingertips feeling hot against him. He sucked in a breath roughly when her hands reached his waistband, and she looked up to see eagerness and uncertainty mingled together on his face.

He was nervous, that was obvious, and she could not for the life of her begin to understand why a man like him could possibly be nervous in this situation. Nevertheless, she decided to go first and neatly slid her shorts down, letting them flutter to the ground to puddle at her feet. She stepped out of the fallen shorts and climbed onto the bed, kneeling at the foot of it before him, putting her on eye level with him. She leaned in and kissed him, gently, once, twice, before deepening the kiss. He fell back into this familiar territory eagerly and soon his hands were all over her and Hannah was having a difficult time catching her breath.

She moved to his belt, unbuckling it, undoing his pants and then grabbing hold of them and yanking it all off his hips, briefs and all. He grabbed her face and put one knee up on the bed next to her, and she began to lay back, leading him down with her. When she was laying back completely, she pushed him away for a moment to get a look at him in all his buck-naked glory.

She was not disappointed. She could see the hungry look on his face, as he took in the sight of her laying beneath him but again, that hesitation from before was creeping back across his expression.

"Steve," she murmured, her hands reaching for his shoulders and pulling him down on top of her, "What's wrong?" He took in a sharp breath when she began to nuzzle at his neck. "I'm not sure how to say this," he managed to get out, between his intakes of air, "I've never done this before." Hannah paused, and pulled away from his neck. She looked up into his face which was now displaying his fascinating blush.

"Do you mean since you, uh, were woken up?" She asked carefully. He shook his head, the movement shaking loose some of his hair, which fell across his forehead. Hannah licked her lips quickly, and then bit the lower one. "Ok," she replied in as a calm a voice as she could muster, well aware that with one of her legs hooked over his hip like it was, and not a stitch of clothing between them, they were literally one movement away from dealing with that problem.

"Do you… not want to?" She asked him carefully, as her hand was drawn to the loose lock of blonde hair that was laying across his forehead, brushing it back up on his head. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned into the gesture. "I do, I really do," he replied, his voice sounding heavy and full of want, "I just wanted you to know, because, I might not be… I might be…"

Hannah shook her head and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a blistering kiss, and then she urged him over onto his back. He lay beneath her now, a big man, a muscular, warm man, a handsome man. She was panting now. "It's alright," she almost gasped, "I'll show you."

And she did.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

They spent most of the day in bed. Sure, there were forays into the kitchen to seek out food and drink, and once a shower that eclipsed all previous showers that she had ever taken, but mostly, the bed became an island and they enjoyed themselves as its only inhabitants.

There was certainly something to be said for Steve's stamina, she couldn't deny that. Hannah thought she might have turned into a collection of gloop and jello instead of bones and muscles, she was so worn out. Steve had a pleased smile on his face though, as he drew lazy circles on her hip that made her shiver.

"I have to ask," she finally said, craning her neck to look up at him from where she lay against his chest, "How did you never get around to doing that?"

"I was busy," he replied easily.

"Being Captain America?" She asked, not entirely joking. He nodded and smiled at her. "It's not like I never wanted to," he said, his voice thoughtful and quiet.

"Was there anyone in particular?" Her question was delivered very carefully, knowing that these could be treacherous waters filled with grief and loss, but unable to stop herself from asking regardless. Steve looked away, towards the window. She thought he wasn't going to reply, and decided to drop it.

"Yes," he finally answered, the inflection on that one word telling her all she needed to know about what, exactly, Steve Rogers had left behind when he crashed into the ice. She lay her head back down against him. "I'm sorry," she murmured against his warm skin. His hand moved from her hip to the side of her face and she could feel him kiss the top of her head.

"We should get some sleep," he told her. Hannah nodded and felt a tiny thrill that he intended to spend the night, and wasn't just going to hit it and quit it.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

She slept hard, not waking once in the night, and by the following morning, she felt fantastic, if not a little sore. She realized that spending the night sleeping curled up in Steve's arms, was not a bad way to sleep. When she rolled over and saw he wasn't in bed though, her heart sank like a stone. _He did leave,_ she thought despondently. A resounding crash came from the direction of her kitchen and she sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. She heard the unhappy rumble of Steve's voice coming from that direction and the grin that grew on her face threatened to crack her cheeks.

Hannah grabbed her robe from her closet and padded down the hallway, stopping at the bathroom to brush her teeth, use the facilities, and wash her face. Feeling less like a dragon (and now without the morning-dragon-breath), she headed to the kitchen and found a batter-covered warzone awaiting her.

"Captain America can't cook," she said, giggling. Steve jerked around to look at her, the familiar blush growing on his face and she took a couple light steps towards him to place a kiss on his mouth. "I can't even say what went wrong first," he admitted, "I wanted to cook you something nice, bring it to you in bed." She smiled and looked around at the wreckage.

"I'll tell you what, you go clean up, and relax on the couch," she said, steering him out of the kitchen and around the dining table, "I'll see what I can salvage." He smiled sheepishly at her and lifted the side of her robe quickly, a mischievous move that made her laugh again.

"You're not wearing anything under that, are you," he stated, his face looking strained. She shook her head and he winced. "I think you're trying to kill me," he muttered, wandering away down the hallway. Hannah turned back to the kitchen, and her old in-control-self stepped forward, making quick work of tossing out the horror of Steve's cooking, cleaning up his mess and getting a new breakfast going. By the time Steve came to check on her, she was just scooping the last bit of scrambled eggs onto some plates.

"That smells so…" he began, Hannah smiled as she handed him a plate of eggs and bacon and a mug of coffee, and finished his sentence for him. "Like food? Not like burning and rat poison?" Steve rolled his eyes and headed for the table. "Very funny," he replied in faux-indignation, "It wasn't that bad!" Hannah took a seat across from him and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Steve, there were egg shells and weird lumps of something hard in the batter," she told him, watching as he scooped up a huge mouthful of food, "And said batter was stuck like glue to things – pancake batter shouldn't do that." He tossed a piece of bacon in her direction and she snatched it up, chomping out a huge chunk of it before tossing it back at him.

They ate in companionable silence and Hannah let her mind drift. The logistics of dating Steve were not lost on her. He wasn't a celebrity per se, he was more like a living legend, a piece of history come to life – he fascinated and scared people in equal measure, though he was well loved as a hero-symbol from the Greatest Generation. Anonymity would be difficult for her to maintain, and she wasn't certain she was ready to be linked to him publicly. She knew what people would say about her, why she was with him ( _Star-fucker? Hero-fucker? Is that a thing?)_. She'd read enough sleazy magazines to really understand how awful people could be, even in regards to a mostly idolized individual.

Then there was his work. Obviously there was no more World War, so he wasn't a Captain in the traditional sense, at least not on battlefields like the ones in his heyday. But he _was_ an Avenger, and while she didn't really know exactly what that group did, she knew they saved New York, and the world, a year ago. She also knew, thanks to Google that he worked for SHIELD, that murky, mysterious organization that seemed like it was maybe attached to the government sometimes, and above it others.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Steve asked her, Hannah looked up from her coffee and smiled at him and then spoke without thinking. "Just thinking about how complicated it's going to be dating you," she replied, a small smile on her face. His expression remained blank and he blinked a few times in rapid succession, and Hannah swallowed hard, wishing she could eat her words. "Not that we're dating," she rushed on, "Just that we like each other's company and enjoying hanging out, I think."

Steve nodded dumbly and climbed to his feet, clearing their dishes and heading to the sink to wash them. Hannah twisted in her chair and felt like kicking herself. _Way to come off sounding needy and stupid,_ she chastised herself, _how about you calm down there, spaz?_

Internally vowing to henceforth always think before speaking, Hannah spoke without thinking again, "I don't mean to sound crazy! I'm trying to force anything! It's just that you're you and I'm just a person and it might get weird and I have no idea what you do and what that might mean."

Steve began washing their dishes in the sink and she watched him quietly. "I have a dishwasher," she finally said faintly, listening to the dishes clank around in the sink. Steve nodded and smiled over his shoulder at her. "I don't, so I never learned how to use one," he replied. Hannah nodded and grabbed her mug, climbing to her feet and walking to the living room. She stood at her front window and looked outside. The sky was grey today, decidedly less bright than the day before.

She started slightly when Steve approached silently and slid an arm around her waist. "I'm sorry, I had no idea how to answer you," he said quietly, "And you're right, it is complicated, I never really thought ahead – I don't want your life disrupted because of me."

"I think it depends on the kind of disruption," she told him, turning in his arms to look up at him. He took her mug and put it down on the coffee table. Steve gently held her face in his hands and kissed her, and she could feel them both starting to melt into it. When they parted she smirked a little. "If _that's_ the kind of disruption you had in mind, I don't have a problem with it," she assured him. Steve laughed and they moved to the couch.

"I'm watched a lot," he said simply.

"Watched?" She asked, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. "By SHIELD, by my uh, co-workers, by other agencies who don't fully trust what I am and what I can do," he explained, "I'm not certain that even my own people are able to leave me alone when I'm not 'on the clock'."

Hannah nodded and looked away, not sure how to respond. "I'm watched by enemies too," he continued, his voice harder than before, "I know they're there, SHIELD knows they're there, but we don't always know who 'they' are, so there isn't much anyone can do about it."

"You have enemies?" She asked him quietly, turning back to him. His eyes were quite pretty, with the way the grey light from without the window was hitting them. He nodded and then shrugged. "Well, SHIELD has plenty, and I do the work for SHIELD most of the time, myself and my team, so they become my enemies," Steve sounded reluctant, as if he was afraid he might be scaring her.

"Your team? Like the Avengers?" She clarified and he shook his head. "No, the Avengers Initiative is for more… global… problems – this is a STRIKE team, SHIELD agents, myself, Clint." She nodded, though the term 'STRIKE" and the name 'Clint' held no meaning for her.

They were quiet for a long minute before she had to ask the one question that was burning in her mind, a question that she knew sounded selfish. "Am I… would I, be in danger with you? From these people watching, your enemies, any others?" Her voice carried, because her concern was genuine, though she winced a little when she asked. Steve moved quickly, sliding across the couch to sit next to her, gathering her hands in his. He held her firmly.

"I would never let you, or anyone, get hurt when I'm around," he insisted, his voice urgent, "I meant more that, my situation is unpredictable, and not private, and if SHIELD calls, then I will always answer." She blinked and nodded at him. He squeezed her hands again and her eyes moved back to his, arrested by the blue earnestness she found there. "I should've talked about this before, we never should have done anything until I'd explained this all to you, that was wrong, I'm so sorry," Steve apologized.

Hannah smiled at him, a little crookedly, and said, "I never said no, did I?" He answered her smile with a small one of his own. "Does that make me stupid?" She asked, rhetorically, and she shrugged as her own response, "I'm still thinking about last night – I wouldn't worry so much about long-term stuff now. Let's go on a second date first, hey?"

Steve laughed at that and she laughed with him, and much of the serious tension dissipated. A little while later and he did leave, for real this time. He had to report in, and she had errands to run. "I'd like to see you sometime this week," he told her, pausing in her doorway on his way out, "I'll be gone for a couple days most likely, but afterwards…"

"You know where I live," she joked, a smile on face. They kissed again, and as he walked away, Hannah shivered a little and shut her door. _Did SHIELD see that? Did someone else? Are they watching? Listening?_ She felt violated just thinking about it and wondered how Steve accepted it so matter-of-factly. She felt sad for him, that his new life was under a microscope whether he wanted it to be or not. For first time, she actually began to think that this might all be a little much for her, no matter what her feelings for Steve were now, or might become later.


	6. Chapter 6

She was definitely being followed, she was certain of that. At least she thought she was certain. It was hard to tell. She worked in a fairly business-centric section of DC and couldn't be 100% sure, but she thought the same two men in black suits had been hanging around at a distance for the past couple of days. On her lunch break, she and a new co-worker had gone out for sushi, and that was when she realized the two men sitting across the restaurant were the same two men she'd seen in Starbucks that morning, _and_ hanging out in the lobby of her office the day before.

Steve had been gone for two days at this point and she wondered if the uptick in their relationship was something that SHIELD was now officially aware of. Hannah wondered if they knew because Steve told someone, or because they just overheard something. She figured she was certainly on their radar if either was the case. She didn't know if it was because they were nosy, or if they were worried she wasn't what she seemed.

That very night, at home, she shut the door behind herself, exhausted from a difficult day at work, and almost immediately felt a small tingle go up her spine. It felt like the entire world had shifted half an inch to the left without her being told. Had she left her front hall closet closed this morning? Hadn't she left the living room curtains open? Wasn't this novel sitting on the arm of the couch this morning, and not the side table next to it? Everything was locked and secure, nothing overt was changed, but Hannah had the creeps all the same.

"What are you going to do? Call the police and tell them someone broke in and closed the curtains and moved a book, and then left?" She spoke aloud and the sound of her voice broke the spell. Hannah laughed to herself as she got ready for her evening on the couch. The reasonable part of her mind told her she was just feeling a little bit on edge after realizing that SHIELD was very likely following her.

Still though, the very next day, she stuck a small piece of clear tape to the bottom of her apartment door on the way out. The entire day was an agony of waiting, a part of her was hoping to be proven right: she _wasn't_ crazy – someone _had_ been in the apartment. Of course, the larger portion of herself wanted to return home and find the tape whole and in place, proof that she was being silly.

She rushed home more quickly than normal, dodging other people on the sidewalks and nearly jogging. When she finally arrived home, she vaulted up the stairs, heedless of her sensible work attire, and dropped to her knees in front of the door. Taking in deep gulps of air to catch her breath, she saw that the tape was broken. Her heart nearly stopped beating when she laid eyes upon the two tiny little flaps of clear tape. Hannah got to her feet and stared hard at her door, which was still locked. Someone had been inside and was either in there still, or had done god knew what and then left.

She reached for the door knob and then pulled her hand back. Every instinct in her body told her that she would be the world's biggest idiot to go in there alone. Hannah reached for her phone and quickly dialed Steve, praying he was back in town.

"Hey!" He answered on the third ring and sounded pleased she was calling. Swallowing her growing fear, Hannah backed away from her front door, towards the stairwell. "Hi Steve, are you back in town?" She asked, her voice slightly strangled, despite her efforts to sound normal.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked immediately, his tone growing hard and serious. "Um, I'm pretty certain someone has been following me the past couple of a days and that someone is in my apartment right now, or was in there earlier and I'm –" She began, her voice staying steady, but the words rushing together.

"Leave the building right now," Steve ordered her, his tone so harsh and serious, Hannah swallowed, " _Now_ Hannah, get out and go somewhere safe and public."

"And then what!" She cried, irritation and worry in her voice as she turned and started to race down the stairs, "What the hell is happening, Steve?"

"Just leave, and call me when you're safe, I'll fix this," Steve's voice was curt, but his worry for her was very evident. Hannah stared at the phone when he hung up abruptly, and continued to hurry down the stairs. Once outside she looked around rather wildly. _This shouldn't be happening, I was going to have chilli for dinner and watch Jeopardy, not flee for my life,_ Hannah thought frantically. She began to walk quickly down the still-bright street, seeing shadows and bad guys everywhere.

"I'm normal, I'm normal, I'm _normal,"_ she whispered to herself with every step she took. She made it to a nearby restaurant, one of those family-friendly chain places, and got herself a seat right in the middle of the crowd of people dining there. Her heart was beating hard and she ordered an iced tea from her chirpy server, struggling to keep her tone normal sounding.

Fumbling in her coat pocket, she pulled out her phone and quickly called Steve. "Are you alright?" He asked her immediately upon answering the phone. "Yes," she replied, tapping her free hand lightly against the table, "Steve you need to tell me what's going on right now."

He was silent for a moment. "I'll just go to the police, Steve," she said in a low voice, her tone getting heated, "I'm not going to be scared out of my own house just because I'm dating Capt- ah uh, _you."_

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm looking into it, it's no one dangerous," he told her quickly, "I promise you that, no one is going to hurt you."

"Are you saying that SHIELD did this? They were in my apartment today?" Hannah's voice was affronted, but she worked to keep the volume down, not wanting any of the nearby crabby parents or screaming children to overhear her.

"And yesterday, and they've had a detail on you," Steve admitted, "I had a co-worker look into it, he confirmed that they've been trying to get full surveillance on you."

"Are you kidding me?" She asked, her tone shocked. Hannah looked around at the people in restaurant and wondered if SHIELD could see and hear her now.

"No," his reply was quiet, but she could hear loud noises in the background. "Steve, I –" Hannah began, but her throat locked up and she didn't want to talk anymore, "I'm going to go, please tell me you're coming back?"

"I'll be back tonight, I'll come straight to your place," he promised. Hannah hummed her agreement in a distracted way and hung up without saying goodbye, hoping he would take the hint and not call her back right now. She wasn't sure how to feel. This was so far out of uncharted territory that she didn't have the slightest clue what she should do. _Dear Abby, My boyfriend's employers are having me followed and have bugged my house and possibly installed cameras in it too – should we break up?_

She couldn't even muster a smile for her inner voice and began to stir listlessly at her iced tea with a straw. How was she supposed to shower at home? Go to the bathroom? Sing in the kitchen? Dance naked around the apartment just because? _Jesus, how do we even go about having sex? I'm not doing that in there, knowing at the very least someone might be listening._

Her server came back and stood beside the table for a moment, and Hannah waved a hand at them without looking up. Her eyes were locked on the lemon wedge floating in her tea. "I'm fine, thanks," she muttered. She looked up in jerky surprise when the man she had mistaken for her server sat down in the seat across from her.

"You don't look fine," he told her easily. Hannah blinked at him and licked her lips, her eyes darting around uneasily. _This is a crowded, public place, SHIELD wouldn't grab me or anything, would they?_

"I'll scream," was the first thing she could think to say. The man on the other side of the table nodded, his lips pressed together in a small, contemplative smile. "Well, alright, if you want to, I never asked you to, though," he replied. She made a move to get to her feet, her hand reaching for her phone in her pocket at the same time. _I'll call the cops, and then Steve,_ she thought firmly, her gaze locked on the absurdly calm and normal looking guy sitting across from her.

"Please sit down," he told her, no pleading whatsoever in his voice, but the tone making it abundantly clear that she needed to do what he said, "I'm not here to hurt you miss, I work with Captain Rogers." Hannah sat down in a near huff.

"A co-worker?" She couldn't help but snap, and the man smiled a little and looked away. "He's so unsubtle sometimes," the man commented, "This isn't his fault, and it's not mine either, he may be Captain America, but the rules come from way above him."

"Rules?"

"He's a valuable member of SHIELD, valuable to the world really, and anyone new in his life is regarded with suspicion," the man told her, "He's also got powerful friends who are always concerned about him, because in case you haven't noticed, he's a little naïve about some stuff."

"So what? SHIELD needs to approve of his dates? Set a curfew? Flash the porch lights to break up our make-out sessions?" Her tone was sarcastic, but it was taking everything she had not to show how incredibly terrified she was at the moment. Once, a few years ago, she had been speeding and was pulled over. She knew she'd done something wrong and watching the cop walk towards her car in the side mirror had been one of the most terrifying experiences of her life. This was abundantly more frightening, for all the worst reasons.

The man shrugged. "We mostly need to make sure you are who you say you are," he replied. Hannah curled her hands into fists on her lap, beneath the table. "And when you discover that I am exactly who I appear to be?" She asked between clenched teeth. He dipped his head in a nod towards her. "Then we need to keep track of you for different reasons," his words were not unfriendly, she got the feeling that he was not a bad man, or an asshole, he was simply doing what he, and his agency, saw as the right thing to do.

Hannah sipped at her tea. "What reason are those?" She asked when she'd swallowed the tea she could no longer taste. His face was serious, but his previously hard eyes softened a little bit. "To protect you, to keep those attempting to get at Captain Rogers from doing so through you." Hannah took in a slow, deep breath of air, nodding vaguely and looking around the room blindly.

 _I am normal, I am normal, I am normal,_ she chanted in her mind. Part of her couldn't believe that any of this was happening, that surely she would wake up from this surreal dream to find herself on her couch having fallen asleep watching too many spy movies. Another part of herself was just flat out afraid. _You're a coward,_ she told herself, and the cowardly part agreed without shame.

She hadn't known Steve long enough. This was too much too early for things to be going so utterly sideways, of that she was certain – the expectation for her to take it all on just to be with a guy she'd only just met, was stupid really.

She pictured his smile, his laugh, the way his blush ran along his cheekbones when he embarrassed himself. _I really like him though,_ she argued with herself, _I think it's safe to say he really likes me._ A thought occurred to her.

"Steve never knew you were going to do this, did he?" She asked the man sharply. He'd been sitting patiently, watching her sort through her thoughts. He shook his head.

"He doesn't like to talk about his past, or his present, very much, even with me, and I see him almost daily," the man told her, his tone almost regretful, "But he started talking about you, almost as soon as he'd met you. Only to me though, as far as I know, I think because he trusted me; he wanted advice, he was excited and he wanted to share it with a friend."

"So you ratted him out," she stated flatly. He sighed, a sigh heavy with burden. "I told you before, he doesn't always see the forest for the trees," his explanation didn't sit well with her. Hannah folded her arms over her chest, each hand gripping the opposite elbow. "So you decided you knew better and betrayed the trust that he's so typically unwilling to give people, by spreading his story around SHIELD?" She snapped, indignant for Steve, and for herself. The man looked away, his face hard.

She felt bad for Steve, SHIELD watched him, and now they were intruding grossly into his life. "Is he just some joke to you people? Will you be broadcasting our time together? _Oh hey everyone, Steve and his girlfriend are doing it, come on! Watch the old guy get it on!"_ Her words and her expression were bitter and filled with loathing.

The other man's face twisted with real emotion then, something like disgust and unhappiness moving over his expression. "What do you think SHIELD is, exactly?" He leaned forward so his lowered voice could reach her, "Look, miss, Steve is my friend. After my report, I was asked to lead this little bit of surveillance by the highest level at SHIELD, for Steve's own safety."

"His safety," she mumbled, "Right. So behind his back everyone treats him like a child?"

"He's Steve Rogers; he's treated with respect. No one knows about any of this at SHIELD besides myself and the two guys, agents, working with me," his explanation seemed genuine, but Hannah was still not convinced. She looked away. "Forgive me for having trust issues when it comes to you guys," she mumbled.

The man climbed to his feet and slapped a five dollar bill onto the table, before walking over to Hannah and grasping her under the arm. "Just walk with me, ok?" He said firmly, his face close to her ear. "If I make a scene you'll drag me out anyways, right?" She hissed back, and he nodded. Hannah let him lead her out. She strangely was not afraid of this man, her gut, her instincts, all screamed that he was a good guy, no matter how crazy and awful the rest of this scenario was.

Outside he led her to a black truck parked at the curb and she balked at the door. Good vibes or no, she was not climbing into a car with a strange man. He looked about to force her in when he heaved a great sigh again and reached into her coat pocket. "Hey!" She cried, stumbling back from the gesture, which was entirely too close to her person. The man held her phone out to her.

"Call him," he ordered. She gaped at him, but reached out and tore the phone from his hands. She eyed him cautiously. "Why?" She responded doubtfully. The man rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone from her, making her angry again. He stabbed at the screen a couple times and then thrust the phone back at her. She saw the picture of Steve at the diner that served as the call screen for him and held the phone to her ear, glaring at the man who was watching her closely.

"Hannah? Thank god, look, I'm so sor-"

"Be quiet – there's a SHIELD agent here, he found me at the restaurant, tried to feed me some bullshit reasons why this is all ok –" The man rolled his eyes again, even more dramatically than before, and waved a hand at her. "Describe me," he whispered, his tone bossy. Hannah narrowed her eyes at him, her jaw jutting out slightly.

"Hannah, please, you're safe right? Did they take you hom-"

"Steve, the agent wants me to describe him to you."

There was a pause on Steve's end. "You don't trust him, right?" Steve asked, his tone lilting just the slightest bit with approval.

"Seeing as he wants to drag me into his car, no, I definitely do not trust him," she replied shortly. She was growing impatient and furious about this whole thing and Steve was starting to look like a good outlet for it.

"Describe him to me, then."

"About 5'9 or 5'10, short light brown hair, blue eyes, kind of a squashed nose, looks a little like a caveman –"

"Hey, come on now," the man said peevishly.

"Clint, it's Clint Barton, you're safe with him Hannah, he'll get you home, you can trust him," Steve sounded relieved beyond measure. Hannah hung up on him again and stuffed her phone back in her pocket. Clint gestured towards the door and she climbed into the truck without fuss or complaint this time.

"He identified you immediately, when I got to the caveman part," Hannah said flatly, childishly wanting to be mean, the moment he climbed in on the driver's side. He paused for a moment before sticking the key into the ignition. "You're not very nice," Clint groused. They drove silently, the truck mostly not moving as the city ground to a halt in the typical gridlock traffic that appeared each rush hour.

Hannah watched him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. His profile as she looked at the side of his face, coupled with Steve's instantaneous relief at her description of Clint, was triggering something in her memory. He slid the sunglasses he'd been wearing on top of his head down onto his face and suddenly she recognized him.

"Ohhhh," she said, letting the word come out on a breath of air, "You're an Avenger." He smiled and didn't look over. "What did they call you again?" She asked him, and he shrugged. "It was something with a bird right? Big Bird? Parakeet man? Pigeon-eye?" She persisted, and he glared over at her.

"You're deflecting right now because you can't deal with what's happening to you," he stated simply. Hannah pressed her lips together and looked away. "What are you, the group therapist?" She muttered, staring out the window at the people driving in the car next to them. She wondered what their day was like, envied them their normal life.

"I actually _have_ been in a lot of therapy the past little while, it feels good to use some of it on someone else," Clint responded reasonably. Hannah said nothing, didn't even nod.

"Look, I understand your situation more than you might realize," he finally continued, his voice not unkind, "Sticking with someone in Steve's situation, trying to have some kind of a normal life with that person…." He trailed off and Hannah turned to look at him. He had the steering wheel gripped firmly in his hands as he stared out at the traffic around them.

"It's not easy," he finally finished.

"We've only been sort of dating for a little over a week," she said softly.

"This is all sort of a mood killer then, I guess," he replied. Hannah shook her head and pressed her hands to her forehead. "I really like Steve, he's, well, he's just –" she started, but Clint cut her off.

"You don't have to defend it," he told her quietly, finally pulling off the street in front of her apartment. Hannah immediately turned and reached for the door handle, but Clint reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Look, Hannah, you really do seem like a nice girl. I'm going to give you some advice alright?" She closed her eyes and nodded, releasing the door handle. His hand dropped from her arm.

"It's not fair that you're in this position, not for either of you – you both deserve to be with each other, if that's what you truly want – but you need to be damn sure that you _really_ want it, because once you choose, there's no going back – you'll either have to live the rest of your life on everyone's radar, possibly in danger, or you'll have to live your life off the grid entirely, cutting all ties to your past."

" _Those_ are my options? Are you kidding me?" Hannah cried, wanting to slap Clint. He regarded her solemnly. "What if you stay with Steve, you two get married, have children, what happens if someone who wants to hurt Steve comes after you or the kids? What happens if Steve is not able to focus at work because he knows his wife is in labor halfway across the world, or his son is getting his tonsils out, and _he can't be there_?" Clint's words were so vehement and heated that Hannah leaned away from him.

"I get it," she finally murmured in response, "Can I go now?" He grunted and she reached for the door and climbed out. "Think about what I said," he called to her, before she shut the door, "You have a window here, to decide; you have a _choice_." Hannah met his eyes and nodded and then slammed the door. She ran from the truck, hurried into her building and then raced up the stairs and into her apartment. Inside, she locked all her locks, closed and locked all the windows, drawing the curtains, and then peeled off all her clothes in the hallway before stepping into the shower. She sat down on the floor of the tub and let the warm water fall down on her, pattering steadily onto her head and skin.

 _I don't think I'm normal anymore._


	7. Chapter 7

***** Last chapter folks! Thanks for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it! *****

When his knock came at the door, Hannah was ready for it. She had taken a very long, very hot shower, changed into something soft and baggy and enveloping, and had curled up on the couch with a couple of bottles of beer, and waited. If was just past midnight when he finally arrived. She pulled the front door open and there stood Steve, wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a leather coat, looking painfully _Steve-ish_. Hannah turned away from the door, leaving it open, and headed towards her living room, knowing he'd follow.

She heard the door close and a moment later he came and sat on the other end of the couch. They were each silent for a couple of minutes. "I want to apologize," he began, his voice low and heavy, but Hannah held a hand up to him.

"No," she said quickly, "Don't." Steve nodded and hung his head. She turned and put a hand on top of one of his, where it rested on the couch. "Steve, you didn't do anything wrong," she told him, "SHIELD did, your so-called friend Clint did, but you didn't," her voice came soft but firm and he finally looked up at her.

"I never should have said anything to him about you," he told her, regret in his voice, "But I knew him longer than the rest of the team, and I thought because he was… well, because _we_ were both Avengers, that maybe I could trust him, just as a regular friend." She pressed her lips together and said nothing. Steve turned the hand that hers was resting on top of, wrapping his fingers all the way around her hand.

"He explained how it would be," she told him flatly, "And I know we're way _way_ too early into any kind of even _quasi_ -relationship to talk long term, but your bosses have forced the issue." He nodded, and his thumb stroked the back of her hand idly. She pulled her hand from his gently. "Steve, I don't want to live like that, and I really wish you didn't have to either," she laid it out simply and baldly, "I know the things I want out of life, and I think maybe you could have been one of those things, but not this way. Not SHIELD's way. I won't live like a bug in a jar, constantly wondering if someone is watching me pee, or listening while we do it."

Steve lifted his head from where it hung and looked over at her, a small rueful smile on his face. "This is part of why I like you, you know," he told her, "You tell it like it is."

"No, I don't," she answered quickly, "Trust me, if I did people would definitely avoid me more often. I just sometimes have moments of clarity." Steve chuckled and climbed to his feet. "So that's it," he said, "It's all over before it really got off the ground?" Hannah climbed to her feet and walked over to him.

"I'm sorry you can't make the choice I'm making, that you can't opt out of the whole SHIELD experience," Hannah told him carefully, "But, we hardly know each other, and given the situation, I really need to look out for myself. I don't want you halfway around the world when our son has his tonsils out, you know?"

Steve made a puzzled face. "What?" He asked. She waved a hand at him. "Talk to your friend Clint," she said distractedly.

"Oh, I'll be talking to him, alright," Steve's voice dropped angrily, and for half a moment Hannah felt bad for Clint, "And he's off my team, getting replaced - I can't work with people I can't trust." His eyes looked past her for a moment as he thought. "Maybe Romanov could step in…" he muttered, before shaking himself a little and looking back at Hannah, seeming to realize that now was not the best time to be thinking of Clint Barton replacements.

"So this is it?" He asked, picking up one of her hands and holding it lightly. She felt her throat catch the slightest bit, but nodded. "I think we would've made a good team," he told her quietly, regretfully. She smiled at him and took a step towards him, kissing his cheek before gently kissing his mouth. They embraced for a moment, the soft kiss going on and on, before he stepped away quickly.

"Goodbye, Hannah," he said, strangely formal. She watched him walk out of the living room and heard him close the front door behind him as he left. "Bye Steve," she mumbled. After a few minutes she went to the front door and locked it again. Then she proceeded to sit on her couch and get very, very drunk. She didn't cry, not even once, her emotions were never really given the chance to attach themselves to Steve. She faintly mourned the loss of the _idea_ of her and Steve, but the reality of her and Steve kept getting in the way, and she only ended up feeling angry and intruded upon.

The next morning she woke-up more hungover than she had been since college and called in sick to work. She spent the day in the house, creeping about and wondering where SHIELD had hid the microphones and cameras. She was too tired to look for them.

The day after that, she returned to work. The entire day was spent pretending like everything was normal and that nothing strange had just finished happening to her. It was hard to fake normal all day, and finally, at the end of it, she was able to leave work and go home. A dissatisfied scowl settled on her face as soon as she left the office and lingered there the entire walk home. People went out of their way to avoid the furious looking blonde woman marching down the center of the sidewalk, but Hannah hardly noticed.

Her apartment was sitting empty, waiting for her, it seemed, and there was a folded note on her coffee table with her name written in unfamiliar hand on the outside. It made her grit her teeth at the obvious intrusion. She stood glaring at the note, her fists clenched at her sides. To her the innocent looking note seemed to be mocking her, SHIELD seemed to be mocking her. _Look how easily we can slither inside your life,_ the note seemed to say, _look how easily we can get you, with or without Steve._

After a few minutes of silently loathing the piece of paper from a distance, she walked stiffly over to it and scooped it up. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for a threat, or a warning, or stern directions, before she flipped the note open. Hannah let out a heavy sigh of relief at the message inside. _Your apartment is cleaned out. Nobody is watching or listening. – Clint_

She read the note three times and then crumpled it up in one hand and dropped it into the garbage in the kitchen. She proceeded to strip naked in her living room and parade confidently from there into her bedroom, a small act of defiance, though she knew in her gut that SHIELD was definitely gone. She still had that odd sense of trust for Clint Barton; he wasn't lying to her in the note, just as he hadn't been lying to her in truck.

A week later, Hannah was retrieving her mail when she noticed that the little ' _S. Rogers_ ' that adorned Steve's mailbox was gone. She jogged up the many flights of stairs until she reached the fourth floor, Steve's floor, and saw his apartment door wide open. There was a crew of men inside painting the walls, while others appeared to be replacing the carpet in the living room. A man walked by her, a toilet clutched in his beefy arms.

"Scuze, miss," he mumbled. She muttered an apology and moved out of his way, still staring at the obviously vacated apartment. _He really left,_ she thought, partially torn between dismay and utter relief that she wasn't going to have to awkwardly dance around him.

It hurt to say goodbye to him, to let him go, but she was resolute in the decision. _I closed my eyes to the warning signs with Dylan,_ she told herself sternly, _I'm not doing that again._ She knew herself and knew that living in hiding was never going to be ok, and having a partner more tied to his secret government agency than he would be to her or their potential children, was never going to be alright.

Hannah went back down the stairs and into her apartment. She undressed from work, and shoved her dinner in the oven and then took a seat at her desk, turning the computer on. She pulled up the SPCA website and began to look for an orange-striped friend.

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

 _ **2 Years Later**_

The drive into New Jersey was a long one. Nat kept looking over at Steve. After asking about the kiss, their conversation meandered along for a while, but her own stubborn curiosity would not allow her to stop wondering. _If I wasn't the first since 1945, who was it then, Steve?_ She wondered, her eyes cutting critically over his profile in the passenger seat, as if she might find out just from looking at him.

He was so strangely cryptic about his personal life, both past and present, and she enjoyed bothering him about dating people, but he always swiftly and neatly turned it down and brushed it aside. She commented casually to Clint once that maybe Steve was actually interested in men, but Clint had shaken his head.

"It's none of our damn business either way, Nat," he'd told her, rather brusquely for Clint, "Maybe he just knows how hard it would be have the people he loves in hiding, to fear for them just because of what he is and what he does." Nat had taken in Clint's stiff posture and rigid jaw and realized that Clint might be right, and really, who would know better than Barton about the trials of a hidden family?

Now though, SHIELD was not what they thought it was, and they weren't in contact with anyone, let alone Barton, either because they didn't know who they could trust, couldn't reach the ones they did trust securely, or couldn't waste the time to try and figure out how to do either. _Maybe all three,_ she mused, thinking that she would always trust Barton, but she didn't want to pull him into this mess.

Ever since Steve had tossed Barton off his team two years prior, with no reason and no explanation, and, oddly, no fight from Clint about why he was doing it, Natasha found that had less and less time for Barton. She was pulled into Steve's world, which was work, work, duty, work. He was a hard man to get to know, and kept personal thoughts and feelings quiet and to himself.

She was often guilty of doing the same, or rather, displaying thoughts and feelings that people _thought_ were genuine, but were only part of whichever persona she wished them to see. Steve didn't have her training though, her background, her reasons; she couldn't figure out why he wouldn't trust anyone with the real him.

"I know you're staring at me," Steve said calmly, "Got something on your mind?" Natasha stretched out for a moment, like a cat, and then curled her legs up underneath herself on the seat.

"You are a puzzle, Rogers," she told him, "A terrible liar, yes, but simply _not_ talking about things, isn't lying, is it?" Steve said nothing and Natasha tapped her fingers on the arm rest between them. "I'm dying to know," she said in mock confession, "Who was she?"

"Who was who?" He asked mildly, one eyebrow popping up momentarily before dropping back down calmly. "Don't play coy with me," she admonished him, "The girl, your other kiss, is she still around? Is she why you won't date anyone?"

"I don't need to date anyone, Natasha," Steve responded calmly enough, "Can you just drop it?" She sighed.

"For now, but eventually I'll find out."

"I'm sure you will, but how about first we get through the problem at hand?"

"You're no fun, Rogers."

"Get your feet off the seat."

… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …

Hannah put down the bowl of food she'd been mixing. She had been standing in the entranceway to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, stirring up some sauce for dinner, when the TV in the living room rolled over to its next program, the evening news. It began to show footage from earlier that afternoon.

 _Captain America, Black Widow, Arrested_ – the headlines read as they scrolled across the TV. Hannah walked slack jawed into the living room, unable to believe what she was seeing. Steve, the redhead, and another man, were on their knees in the street, hands behind their heads, and masses of armed men were pointing guns at them. The wild-eyed reporter went on about the battle on the causeway involving a lot of high powered weaponry and explosives and reports of a masked man with a metallic arm.

She walked closer to the TV and knelt down near it. Steve looked battered and defeated from the view of the shaky helicopter camera. She put her fingers lightly to the screen for a moment, and then removed them, swallowing hard and shaking her head. Steve popped up in the news every once in a while, a public-interest piece, a 'where are they now' piece, once he visited a children's hospital and the press caught wind of it and she was treated to footage of an annoyed-looking Steve fighting through the crowds when he left. Hannah climbed to her feet and looked around for the TV remote. She didn't want to watch anymore.

Back in the kitchen, the TV now off, Hannah made dinner for herself. She felt a soft rubbing against her ankles and looked down to see her striped, orange cat, Oliver, winding around her feet, mewing plaintively. "I guess you want dinner, too, hey?" She asked him, in the ridiculous tone of voice that she reserved for small furry animals.

The cat pranced around eagerly for the sloppy mess of his wet food, which Hannah scraped out of a can into his bowl, her nose wrinkled just the slightest bit at the offensive fishy odor. She went into her bedroom for a few minutes afterwards, and then returned to the kitchen to grab her dinner when she was satisfied that she had time to eat.

She thought about Steve while she ate. She thought about him more often than she had planned to, naturally. Getting over him, initially, had not been easy. In the couple of months after breaking things off with him, she had thrown herself into her works and made a couple friends. From there, she started dating again. Although that particular practice was brought to a staggering halt not too long after it started.

Oliver came and sat by her feet, cleaning his paws and washing his orange face. "You're not getting any of my food," she told the cat, and he got to his feet and turned away, making his way down the hall towards her bedroom. She watched him go and listened carefully for a few minutes. When she heard nothing, she sighed in relief and washed her dinner dishes. She was just drying her hands when she heard giggling coming from her bedroom.

 _Not again,_ she thought in exasperation, _I'm turning that cat into mittens._ She walked into her bedroom and turned the light on and was greeted by a wide smile and innocent cat-eyes. "Oliver, bad, get out," she shooed the cat away, and watched as the creature lithely jumped out from where he was not supposed to be. Hannah walked over to where the cat had been sitting just a minute ago and stared through the bars at the reason why her dating-life had stopped so abruptly.

Little fingers came through the bars of the crib and grabbed at her nose, pleasant garbled words and happy little chuckles following. "I shouldn't get mad at the cat," she told her son in a dry voice, "We all know you goad poor furball into misbehaving." He climbed to his feet and stood up on his sturdy, chubby little legs, reaching his arms out over the top of the crib towards her.

"Kitty, mama?" He asked her. She couldn't keep the smile from her face as she reached down and picked him up, filling her arms with his warm, chunky, sweetness. Alex, named for her father, reached up and stuck his fingers into her mouth and she pretended to eat them, before carrying him back out to the living room.

She sat on the rocker with him and watched any news channel she could find, looking for more information about Steve and his comrades. Alex moved about restlessly in her arms for a while before slumping heavily against her chest, finally asleep. She held him to herself, rocking gently, running her fingers through the nest of blonde curls atop his head, and re-watched the same footage from earlier, along with other images of Steve in the Battle of New York, and old war-time clips.

Tilting Alex slightly, she stared down at his face, overcome with a wash of love and adoration for her baby son. _Almost a toddler now,_ she thought sadly, stroking a thumb over one chubby cheek, _he'll be a year and half in a couple months_. She studied his features, so soft and sweet as he slept. She could see herself in him; the slope of his little nose, the arch of his eyebrows, the color of his hair.

 _There's so much more of Steve though,_ she thought a little sadly. There were times when she was terrified, afraid that someone would look at Alex and _just know_. But no one did or had. It had been very hard not to put a father's name on the birth certificate, to pretend that she slept around so much that she had no idea whatsoever who had fathered the child.

 _It was worth it,_ she thought, _I'll never have to worry about you, no one will ever take you._ She'd been about 7 months pregnant and about to risk trying to call Steve when that possibility hit her. Steve was not a normal man. She'd seen the evidence of it, that he'd once been a small man. They'd pumped him full of god-knew-what, and suddenly he was an Adonis, a muscle-bound superhero. She didn't know if it was possible, but she worried some of that _stuff_ might end up in her baby. If that was true, and SHIELD found out, she didn't doubt for a second that they'd take her baby away from her, to study him endlessly, likely locking her up in the process, too.

Hannah walked slowly down the hall to her bedroom and tucked Alex back into his crib. The cat climbed up onto her bed which was directly across from the crib and curled up into a little ball, facing the baby, as if to watch over him. He did it every night. "Thanks, Ollie," she whispered, scratching the cat behind his big ears, "But if you wake him again, I'm dropping you into a cold shower."

She wasn't able to concentrate that night, not very well, she was wrapped up in worry for Steve, and trapped in her old memories and fears. She knew it would all be so much worse if she and Steve had stayed together, and although she had cursed herself for not using protection with Steve that one long, glorious day they'd spent in bed together, she couldn't regret Alex. She would never regret him.

She was grateful to Steve for their son, grateful to Steve for being who he was and treating her so well for so short a time, and she was also grateful that he wasn't in her life right now, because if the images on the TV meant anything, it was that the authority he once worked for had turned against him for whatever reason.

That night, Hannah lay in bed and thought about Steve and listened to their son breathing deeply in his sleep. He might never know his father, but he would always know safety, he would always know a normal life. To Hannah, those things, his safety especially, were most important. She fell asleep hoping Steve made it through this latest Captain America incident safely, and feeling relieved that she and Alex were anonymous and removed from it all.

When she slept, she dreamt of a different life, where the three of them were together and happy, and for now, that was enough.

 _ **THE END**_

 *****Hope you all enjoyed this little story! Thanks for reading! *****

 ***** The sequel is now up! It's titled "Not a Secret Anymore" - Enjoy! *****


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